Pick Up The Chips As They Fall
by chasing-whatever's-out-there
Summary: Brittany S. Pierce's life is in the hands of one mysterious brunette. Because they play hide and seek dangerously.
1. Prologue: First Glances, First Dances

The playground was deserted, as usual. Brittany didn't mind though-she knew it would be. She tugged a bit harder on Lord Tubbington's leash.

"Come on, Tubbs. You know that the meeting's about to start! The kids are just late, as usual."

Noticing the decidedly lackluster way in which his Lordship moved, she stopped, and sighed, planting her hands on her hips right there on the sidewalk. Putting on a mock-scolding look, she decided to try a different tactic.

"Lord T, can we at least try to make it to the swings? Please? I know you're tired, but we needed to walk today, because you've been gaining weight. And don't give me that look-I am not letting you smoke ever again, even if it does make you skinny."

There, that should do it, she thought.

When all she got was a frowning face and unimpressed eyebrows, Brittany sighed, and squatted down, rubbing her friend between the ears. "Tubbs, we have to get to the swings. That's where I wrote on the posters so that people know where we were, and so that they know where the meetings are. I made them super-big this time; someone's going to turn up, for sure." Smirking mischievously, she straightened, grabbing the end of the leash once more. "I mean, you can't hold court for cats without the cats there. Which is why I put them all near to the sidewalk, lower down. See?"

This time, when she tugged, Lord Tubbington followed.

She skipped her way through the slides, the sandbox, the merry-go-round. The sand under her feet made her toes itch to be free from her shoes, but after the last time she trailed dirt home, her mommy had given her that tired sigh, and asked her to keep her shoes on always at the park.

Reaching her destination, she plonked down onto one of the two available swings, casually wondering if she had a purple crayon left over in her box to make a new poster-purple was their official colour, and no matter what everyone said to her, twelve-year-olds could still use crayons. You never got too old for crayons.

She settled into the seat, pushing back and letting her body fly through the air, as she pondered new drawings for her posters-they needed new members, even if she was happy being with Lord Tubbington by herself.

The wind was grumpy today, she noticed, because the irregular bursts of wind was definitely because Mr Cloud was angry-sometimes the air was soothing, playful, and sometimes it swirled around her arc through the sky, as though trying to tell her something.

When Lord Tubbington made a spitting noise by the ground, Brittany sighed, and slowed her swings through space, dragging her feet into the dust, and accidentally kicking sand into the obviously bristling fur.

"Sorry, Tubbs. Let's just wait a little longer, alright? Maybe someone will come today." She reached down a hand to run her fingers through the ill-tempered tabby's fur, hoping to soothe his displeasure. "I think someone will come." Her eyes slid shut, as she took a deep breath.

"I hope somebody would come."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt a change in her surroundings. The wind dropped, the sun seemed to shine a bit darker, and she suddenly itched to be moving.

The sound of footsteps on summer-dry sun had her cocking her head curiously, eyes still closed, not wanting to face the disappointment if it happened to be just a random passerby. But the footsteps continued, towards her, and the sensation was suddenly accompanied by a shadow across her face.

Somehow, Brittany knew that the person wasn't some random passerby.

Somehow, she knew that the person was here for _her_.

Her fingers never ceasing their ministrations on the soft fur, she opened her eyes.

Brown eyes, red lips, tan skin. Dark hair, long lashes, petite body.

Brittany's breath caught. Her movements slowed, her heartbeat raced, her mind went blank.

She was speechless.

For all of three seconds, of course.

"Lord Tubbington says you're pretty." Said tabby blinked up at her in ridiculous surprise. But she didn't mind at the moment, because those brown eyes flickered over to her. She found herself drowning, falling, blinking hard. The curious tilt of the girl's head gave Brittany the courage to continue. She had never seen her around before.

"Are you new?" The quiet stranger crossed her arms over the innocent white top she was wearing, which contrasted beautifully against her skin.

The silence stretched on for a while, with neither saying anything. Brittany began to squirm, feeling the air turn awkward, and yet, she didn't turn away.

Not even when Lord T scratched her knee to get her to look at him.

"I mean, I've never seen you around here, and I don't think anyone else would ever come to the Cat's Appreciation Club; no one's ever come to a session. But, I mean, we're still going strong, and it's our second year, and I think some cats would come if they saw the posters-"

The girl lifted a poster. Brittany remembered making that one-it was purple and red, with a portrait of Lord Tubbington on it. She had felt like she was making it for someone important when she wrote the words, drew the picture. The poster had been special, but she didn't know why.

Was it meant for this girl?

"So, uh." The silence stretched on, softened, as Brittany was offered a smile. Small, but a smile. "Are you here for the meeting?"

A small calico crept out from behind jean-clad legs, and she couldn't hold back the noise of delight. "Oh my god, she's so cute!" Blue eyes blinked up at her, and a warm nose nuzzled at her ankle, making her squeal and laugh slightly.

"What's her name?" She asked, after a few moments of rubbing the soft fur behind a white ear. Mysterious Stranger only shrugged, pointing to the collar around her furry friend's neck, as she tucked her hands into her jeans pockets. A bag hung off one shoulder, looking full.

Brittany bent at her hips, the swing moving forward with the motion, to lift a classic tag, reading off the animal's name. "That's a nice name." She commented, a smile gracing her lips, as she locked eyes with the dark brown ones that stared oh-so-intensely at her.

Lord Tubbington mewled suddenly, and did something that Brittany was pretty sure he had never done before. Voluntarily, of course.

He stood up, and walked over on ungainly feet to the lithe feline at his owner's feet.

"Aw, Lord T, do you like Charity?" Brittany teased, gleefully clapping her hands, as she reached down to rub between his ears. This was great news! Lord Tubbington almost never liked any of the ladies she brought around-it was why she set up the club in the first place! Well, that, and she really did like cats.

Still grinning, she glanced up, and excitedly proclaimed, "My cat _ti amo_s your cat!" because there was no way the girl in front of her was anything other than Hispanic, and probably spoke Spanish a lot better than she did.

The brunette's small smile turned into a smirk, and she finally, took a step closer. Her bag swung slightly on her back, and she released a hand to tug it higher onto her shoulder, leaving it there to pull it tight around the curve. Brittany always did that when she was nervous-was the girl nervous too?

Something pricked in her brain though, like a fluttering she couldn't catch, or the tip of a word she should know. There was definitely something about the girl that was strange. She just couldn't seem to pinpoint it.

Trying to dispel more of the silence, Brittany stood up, bouncing on the balls of her feet the way she did in dance, right before she had to stretch and perform a routine. "Do you want to join?"

The ever-silent girl stares at her, then down at her cat, who was busy ignoring the larger tabby. Her mouth opens in a noiseless mirth, when Charity bats at Lord Tubbington with a nonchalant paw, obviously unimpressed by him.

"Well?" For some reason, Brittany wanted her to join. She had never wanted to talk to someone more than she wanted to talk to her, and she figured she could use cats as a backup if things got too strained. Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth, and she began to worry. Did the other girl not like her? Did she think she was weird?

Her fears were blown away with the breeze that tugged at her hair when shiny white teeth showed themselves with a nod.

"Yes! Alright! Lord T, we have a second, new member!" She started to dance around on the spot, fueled by delight and a strange giddiness. She couldn't help it-when her body wanted to move, it would.

Lord Tubbington couldn't care less at the moment about his owner though; he was too busy trying to regale his future-mate with stories of his impressive pedigree. All she got was a huff of acknowledgement.

Calming down, Brittany's grin just grew wider, as she stuck a hand out the way her mother had taught her, and introduced herself. "I'm Brittany S. Pierce. Not Brittany Spears, but Brittany S., founder and first member of the club!"

Warm hands, smaller than her own, grasped hers in a gentle grip, as they shook, an even warmer smile on a tan face.

"What's your name?" Brittany asked, when it became clear that the girl wasn't going to say anything.

Brown eyes flashed, and hardened for a moment, before turning into liquid chocolate, her lips twitching as they melted even more across the borders of a smile that Brittany had never seen before, but liked the look of.

Instead of replying, the strange girl took a step into her personal space, red lips sending a warm draft across Brittany's neck with every exhale. Her own breath picked up, shallow and fast, and she didn't know why. "Um…" She tried, stuttering to a stop, when a lone finger rose and touched itself to her lips. Brittany went a bit cross-eyed trying to track it, and the quiet girl's eyes squinted, and her nose scrunched as a deep smirk settled comfortably on her features.

Suddenly, Brittany couldn't think about many things. She couldn't think about her mother telling her not to talk to strangers. She couldn't think about why she was in the playground. She almost couldn't think about her name and her next sentence.

All she could think about was standing right in front of her, boldly rising on her tiptoes to press a feather-light, barely-there kiss on the corner of her mouth.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and her eyes widened. What?

Stepping away, the girl smiled at her, pricking a feeling low in Brittany's chest, as she tried to will her legs to follow after.

But, as it always was in books and movies, she seemed to be in a spell, unable to do more than gape at the magnetic person, watching as smooth and slightly gangly limbs crouched down beside Charity, who purred, as she rubbed her head against the proffered palm, completely casting the other tom aside.

Brittany watched some more, as the walking riddle leaned down and placed a kiss between her pet's ears, and straightened once more to stand at her full height beside the dancer.

Brown eyes stared deeply at her, shadows in the hollows of her soft face, the sun beating down on them, mingling their silhouettes on the ground at their feet.

Still, Brittany couldn't move, as the girl raises a hand to cup her cheek, all tenderness and, if she had to be honest, adoration. She couldn't resist pressing herself deeper into the comforting touch, and the tight feeling in her chest grew into a firmer knot, constricting her airways.

She felt like she was on the edge of something big, something full, something bigger than she was herself, and the answer lay in the shape of the caring, nameless girl in front of her.

And then, as suddenly as she had come, the girl pulled away, backpedaling as she bit her lower lip between her teeth, looking very torn about her action. Pain rested amongst her features, and Brittany felt her own heart ache at the sight, as the spell broke, and surprisingly uncoordinated limbs reached for the retreating figure, the disappearing warmth.

"Wait…" The word was a disgusting attempt at a rasp, barely leaving her mouth, and she cleared her throat, feeling tears pool in her eyes for no apparent reason. Where was she going, the girl with the sad eyes and even sadder mouth? The girl with the lonely smile and bold kisses?

Said girl was still moving backwards steadily, her gaze locked on Brittany, as though trying to squeeze whatever she could from the last few seconds they would have together. As though she was begging her to stay where she was, so that she could stare at her forever. She was almost to the edge of the playground, edging back into the darkness of the tree line.

"Wait!" This time, it was an explosion, as her body finally caught up with the desperation, and she managed to take a step, as her arms reached out, hands groping at the air for _something_.

A meow had her stuttering, almost tumbling over herself, as Charity darted in between her legs. Looking down, she tried to pry the animal off, as she muttered words that didn't make any sense to her, tears flowing freely now, as the emotion dropped to her stomach, cramping. She didn't understand it, not at all, but she somehow knew that the caramel-skinned girl could. She needed to get to her…

And by the time the calico unwound from around her ankles, she glanced up eagerly at where she had last seen the girl.

Hungry gazes and pained smiles didn't greet her; there was nothing but the swaying trees, their green leaves fluttering in the sudden breeze, washing away the wisps of her shared moment.

And that was the first time Brittany S. Pierce ever met her.


	2. Little Whispers

"Brittany Susan Pierce, you get your butt down here this instant, or you are walking to school!"

Brittany groaned, reaching a hand out off the bed, attempting to coax the rest of her body to follow. As much as she was energetic during the day, she really wasn't a morning person. Who would want to be up at 7 in the morning anyway? It was one of the few times she could still be asleep at 7, since she didn't have Cheerios' practice before school. Couldn't her mother cut her some slack and let her sleep in?

"Britt, you have to feed Charity and Tubbs!" Her father's voice came floating up this time, and the teen huffed, rolling herself out of bed in all her seventeen year old glory. She ended up sitting with her back against her bedframe, cradling her face between her hands, blonde hair in a mess around her.

Honestly, she herself never knew why she was such a bear in the morning-where she was normally as goofy as a duck, she couldn't, for the life of her, understand why she was always so tired when she woke up, almost as if she hadn't gotten sleep at all.

Sighing, she made another noise of displeasure, before deciding that she had better follow her father's advice. Her family might let her lateness slide, but she would probably have sulky tails and haughty looks to deal with from the cats if she didn't feed them.

"Britt, mommy wants to know if you want pancakes this morning!" Ashley burst into her room, already dressed and chirpy with excitement. Immediately, Brittany's mood picked up-her sister was too adorable for words, and a smile from her always cheered her up, no matter the time or day.

Returning the bright grin which had become a Pierce trademark, she held her long arms out for a hug. "Hey, baby girl." Her voice rasped out, and she tried not to swallow, hating her morning breath.

Happily accepting the offer, Ashley bounded over to sit in her older sister's lap, the person she so admired, ever since she could remember. "Britty, can I feed Charity for you?"

Pretending to ponder the answer, the older sister hummed, as she tapped her chin with a finger. "Hmm…I don't know. Can you?"

"Uh-huh. I know how to do it and everything!" After taking a short moment to chuckle at her sister's imitation of a bobblehead doll, Brittany squeezed the eight year old in her arms.

"You want to feed Lord T too?"

Scrunching her face in disgust, Ashley shook her head. "Nuh-uh. He's going to steal Charity's food anyway. Why doesn't he just eat from his own bowl?"

Her laugh was tinkling and pure, as Brittany replied. "Well, people usually share food on dates, right?"

"Eww! Isn't Charity afraid of cooties?"

"I don't know, squirt. Just be glad we don't have any Lord Tubbington the Seconds."

"I wouldn't mind Charity having kittens!" Shaking her head in amusement, Brittany gently pushed at her sister, indicating that she wanted to get up. Ashley got up, bouncing a little in excitement. "Can I go feed them now? Please, please, please?"

When Brittany nodded, the younger Pierce took off like a shot, running out the door. Brittany's warning to be careful was lost on smaller girl. Smiling a little at the nice morning she was having so far, she decided to get dressed for school.

One brisk shower, and regulation Cheerio uniform and ponytail later, Brittany was ready to go, tossing a couple of things into her book bag. If someone were to ask her what the necessities in life were, she would say, her phone (her parents worried), her lip gloss (you never know when you're going to kiss someone), and her ballerina flats (she's had them since forever).

"BrittBritt! Your sister is feeding the boars of war!"

Taking the steps two at a time, Brittany stopped just short of the kitchen, watching with a bemused eyebrow arch at her father standing in a mock-salute, directing Ashley, who mirrored his action, as she tried to hang on the cat food.

"Boars of war? Daddy, they're cats." A pause. "Lord Tubbs would never go to war." Another beat. "Would he?" He _had_ been sneaking out more often…

Her mother sashayed out from the pantry, clicking her tongue at her flustered husband, who was trying to comfort their eldest. Brittany was pouting something fierce, a shine to her eyes clueing her in to the situation.

"John, what did you do to my daughter?"

"Hey, she's my daughter too!"

In response, Brittany's mom crossed her eyes, making sure that Brittany saw. As hoped, the sight made her laugh, as her dad whispered something into her ear, and it made her beam wide. "Alright!"

"Hey, if she gets one, I get one too!" Ashley cut in, feeling a little left out. Chuckling, her dad came round the kitchen island, reaching down to tickle his youngest daughter's side. "Now aren't you a brat?"

Brittany sighed, as she familiarized herself with the scene once more. Every morning started off almost the same-with laughter, with smiles, with love. But she could never shake off the feeling that there was something else, something out there that she was waiting for.

Which was ridiculous. She had a perfectly happy life; some might argue it was perfect. She was part of Glee Club; she was Head Cheerio; she was Sue Sylvester's only 'consultant' when it came to dance routines; she was thinking about running for senior class president. Sure, her grades might not be stellar, but her parents had never held that against her, or made her feel like there was anything wrong with it.

(She didn't think they would ever admit it themselves, but she thought they kind of liked that they had daughters that were so unconfined by social stigmas and boundaries.)

She was happy. As happy as she could be.

A honk from outside signaled her ride, and Brittany whirled, eyes widening. "Quinn's early!"

"Britt, baby, invite Quinnie in?" Her mother suggested, laying out a plate stacked high with buttered toast. Nodding, Brittany flew to the door to let her bestest friend in the entire world into her house.

Quinn had her hand up in the air, poised to knock on the solid wood door. A small smirk crossed her face, as noises from the kitchen floated to her ears.

"Yet another day at the zoo, huh?"

Brittany shrugged, wondering if her house was a zoo, could she have ducks? Stepping back, she ushered her friend in, absentmindedly bopping to a beat.

"You're energized."

"Huh?"

"Britt, you haven't stopped dancing since I arrived." Concern softening her features, her blonde friend stepped closer to her and raised a hand to her cheek.

It was such a motherly gesture, and Brittany was suddenly struck with an image of her doing the same thing to her daughter, whom she had given up for adoption after she got pregnant by their friend, Puck, back in junior year. Quinn had been a mess after giving birth, but she had found her way back. Somewhat. Brittany knew, even if no one else did, that Quinn struggled with not jumping onto a bus and riding it all the way around the world, away from Lima, Ohio, away from all the judging eyes and knowing disdain. And she would have taken Brittany with her.

Brittany probably would have agreed.

Forcing a laugh out, Brittany shook her shoulders. "It's my birthday next week, and the goblins decided it would be their birthday present to me by not stealing anymore of my shoes."

Hazel eyes stared at her, wondering if it was something she could believe. Brittany often used the 'naïve blondie' tactic to get people to stop prying into her personal life, and it wasn't the first time Quinn had been subjected to it. Brittany kind of found it funny when she could trip over her words and basically troll every single kid at their high school with weird sentences and statements.

People looked at her, but no one really _looked_ at her.

Sometimes Quinn didn't too.

"Quinnie, come inside and eat something!" Her best friend turned, her posture as straight as ever in a pretty sundress she remembered picking out for the short-haired blonde on one of their many shopping trips together. "And bring Britt in too!"

"Your mom wants the food in you instead of on the plate." She said, smiling, as she tugged Brittany by the elbow to the island, leaning against it whilst Brittany bounced around in the seat of the stool. Ashley, well-used to seeing Quinn around by now-the girl had been almost a part of their family!-leaned over to take a bite out of the teen's toast. She liked the quiet blonde-her sister's best friend was really pretty and could easily be mistaken to be part of their family. And did she mention that she was really pretty too?

Catching her sibling's sigh, Brittany's eyes narrowed, as she made a motion as though performing telepathy. "I sense…you think I'm pretty."

"No, ew!"

"Well, mom is pretty?"

"No! I mean, yeah, she is, but no!"

Hiding her laughter, Brittany pretended to ponder again. "What about…you think dad is pretty?"

"Hey, dad is handsome!" Her father argued, butting into the conversation as he handed Quinn another toast; he was just about ready to leave for work, all dressed up in his suit and tie.

Ashley giggled, kissing her father and leaving some bread crumbs on his face, which he smiled away, pecking his wife and daughter on the cheek. He offered Quinn a bear hug that was a total contrast to his otherwise dreary appearance, but the visiting blonde had long since gotten used to, and even looked forward to, the crushing embraces that made her feel so much more loved than she did at home. Her friend's family was just so…warm, it made her teeth hurt sometimes.

"Alright, Ash. Give it up. Is daddy handsome?" Brittany's dad tried again, snagging one more piece of toast, as he hovered around the kitchen table, patting down his pockets to check he had everything.

"Yes, daddy is really handsome." The youngest girl laughed, holding her hands out once more for a final hug. Squeezing his child, John Pierce exhaled happily. His life was perfect. So, so perfect.

"You girl's going to leave with me? Quinn, your car is blocking mine."

"Oops, sorry Mr Pierce." Everyone had long since given up on the hope that Quinn would call Brittany's parents anything other than Mr and Mrs Pierce. "I'll back it out."

"No, no, it's fine. We can go now, if you want." Brittany stood, smoothing down the pleats of her skirt as she downed her orange juice in one go, smiling deviously at her sister who was attempting the same thing. "Maybe next time the unicorn will bless you instead, Ash."

Pouting, Ashley jumped off her seat and rushed over, hugging them as high as she could, which meant waist-height. "Alright, Britty. Bye Quinn." She echoed, hugging the other blonde as well.

Brittany began to hop towards the door, wanting to get out of the house and to school so she could maybe sneak into the choir room and map the next routine. Sectionals were coming up, and she needed to see if everyone could do the steps.

Exchanging last goodbyes with Susan and Ashley, Quinn followed, gently sashaying her friend's hips, good-naturedly trying to still her swaying body.

"Whoa, Britt, seriously, are you nervous or something?" Brittany scrunched her nose at the question. "Aw, Quinn, cheer up! It's a beautiful morning!"

They both looked up at a distant sound of a lawnmower starting, and caught sight of a very topless Mr Randall, who lived down the street with his many pet hamsters. Not a very pleasant sight, seeing as how he was close to fifty and all.

"Yes. Very beautiful." The shorter blonde made gagging motions with her hand, as they stepped up to her car. "So beautiful, that I want to bleach my eyes out so I can keep that image in my head for the rest of my life."

Giggling, Brittany crossed to the passenger side, waiting for Quinn to unlock it with her car fob, and tossed her bag into the backseat, hesitating at the entrance. Her eyes scanned for her father, who was waiting for them in his car, and she waved vigorously. "Love you, daddy!"

Her father waved through the rearview mirror.

Settling into the vehicle, Brittany clicked in the seatbelt while her friend started up the car. "Do you think something's different about today?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, or think too deeply about them. She just couldn't seem to shrug off the sensation of being watched. Her neck prickled the way it always seemed to do under scrutiny, and she found herself turning in her seat to stare through the back window.

Quinn shot her a glance, which she caught through the corner of her eye, but she knew what she was feeling. Call her crazy, but there was anticipation in the air.

As Quinn pulled out of the driveway, Brittany's father followed behind, taking the left, as they drew right. Huffing, Brittany relaxed in her seat, turning around.

Immediately, she turned once more, almost giving herself whiplash, her heartbeat picking up immensely.

_Someone was there_. On the corner of her street, watching her leave. She was sure of it.

"Britt, come on. You're beginning to freak me out here, a little."

"Huh?" She asked, turning her head slightly in confusion, trying to split her attention between the dark shape she was sure was beneath a large tree, and her friend.

"What's going on?" Quinn asked, keeping the wheel steady as concern laced her tone. Brittany could feel a tightening in her gut, and she tore her gaze away long enough to try to explain it to her best friend. "There's someone there, watching me."

"Where?" The other girl asked, protective instincts kicking in. She craned to search the rearview mirror for whatever it was that had Brittany so spooked. The normally bubbly cheerleader swiveled in her seat once more to point out the figure.

"There…hey, where'd it go?"

"Britt…" Brittany could hear the exasperation and disappointment in her tone. Sometimes Brittany wished that Quinn wasn't always so judgmental.

Because she swore, there was somebody there.

There was.

* * *

Brittany walked into Glee Club later that day, darting a glance over her shoulder. She was the last to trail in, having gotten confused with her top again-she had been trying to fit her head through one of the sleeves.

The buzz of choir members quickened, having noticed their blonde cheerleader's strange behavior through the school day. She was exhibiting it right now-as confident as she was, Brittany never walked backwards, like ever. Legend was, that at one time at cheer camp, someone dared Brittany to walk backwards into the forest and back out again, and she totally freaked, hyperventilating and howling, and no one but Quinn could calm her down, dodge all the flailing limbs without a scratch.

Mike got up from his seat, cautiously walking down to his friend. Out of all the Glee members-excluding Tina, of course-Brittany was the one he liked the most. He didn't think anyone else realized how much she was playing them, with all her non-sequiturs and seemingly out-of-nowhere remarks. Though he himself sometimes was astounded by how fast his girl's brain could work.

"Hey Britt." The girl started, facing him with startled eyes that were filled with paranoia. Mike registered it with curiosity, carefully placing a hand on her arm, before continuing. "You ok? You seem pretty…tense."

Brittany was having a weird day. Throughout all her classes, and Cheerios' practice, she had felt that same, uncomfortable sensation on her back. It had followed her from History and Physics, Literature and Calculus. Lunch, it had hovered, making its presence known, and it had even been present when she had been Coach Sylvester's office, going over routines and talking her out of turning the pyramid into a cartwheeling feat.

She was sure now. She was being watched.

Still, she shrugged it off, downplaying it to see if it was just her. "I'm being tracked as a possible sacrifice for Earth."

Mike's brows furrowed, and past him, Brittany could see everyone's head turning to listen in to their conversation.

Maybe she was too subtle.

"I can feel their probes. It's just like the first time, when they invaded my tent? They've come to finally collect my debt."

Alright. So maybe it was just her. Mike didn't seem to sense anything amiss, and well, if the rest of club's confusion wasn't obvious enough, then no one else did either.

"Britt? You sure you're alright?" Quinn, this time, setting her book down, her mouth twisted into an unsure spring of amusement and worry.

Brittany began to feel bad. She shouldn't have tried messing around with them-she should've just been honest and maybe they would have helped her search out the cause of her uneasiness.

It was too late now, though, because Mr Schue decided that it was time to cut in with his impeccably bad timing. Maybe she should have gotten him a watch for Christmas instead of spending time with Santa Claus. Maybe then he would actually pretend to care about coming in early, instead of spending all his time with Miss Pillsbury, or whatever it was he did in his dark corner of the staff office.

Actually, she should have asked Mr Claus to get him one on her behalf!

"…should sit down, Brittany." A deep voice cut through her thoughts, and her head snapped up, slightly disoriented. She had been plotting possible entry points into the time stream to get back to last Christmas. Her time machine looked almost exactly like the one in the movie-Back To The Future. Well, except for the colour. She did like purple.

Quinn patted the seat next to her, and she plopped down, trying to pay attention to Mr Schue as he went on about the week's assignment. Behind her, Mike leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "So, some football player is having a party tonight. Puck wants me to come, be his wingman. So I was wondering if you would come, you know. So we can dance."

Without turning back, Brittany replied in a solemn voice. "But the aliens will be there. So I can't go. They need to have an unbiased conclusion."

"Sure, but they need to see you dance, Britt. I mean, I think you outshine the sun when you do. That should count for something, right?"

Brittany stifled a laugh. Mike had no idea how much of a flirt he was. "Did you really just say that with your girlfriend next to you?"

"Yes, Michael. Did you just say that with me next to you?" Tina joined in, ribbing her boyfriend. Mike held his hands up in surrender-he knew an ambush when he saw one. Self-preservation was in control now.

"Are you coming, Britt? It'd be a great way to de-stress. You know, forget that the weight of the world rests on your shoulders." The eclectic girl asked again, leaning a bit forward. Brittany caught Quinn's amused glance from beside her-the Asian was practically in between them now, and Mr Schue hadn't said a word.

As Rachel prattled on about something or other-Brittany was sure it was about the duvets-she turned in her seat to look at her friends. "I don't know. I don't think I should." She needed to make sure her grades kept up; senior class presidents didn't have GPAs lower than 3.2.

"You should go."

"Quinn?"

Her best friend sighed, shooting a glare at Puck, who kept staring at her from his spot at the back, and said, "You've been off the entire day. You said it was a beautiful day earlier this morning; and yes, it has been. But sweetie, ever since we left your house, you've been acting strange. Go." She held up a hand at the oncoming protest. "Go, and have fun. Teach them a little something about real dances. Mike can be a great teacher." Quinn teased, picking up on any possible arguments she would be faced with.

"Guys, do you have something to add to this announcement?" Mr Schue stared at them, eyes narrowed with frustration. He was used to them ignoring him, but never so blatantly.

All four teens shrugged, unrepentant.

"I don't know why he bothers." Quinn mutters, picking up her book to return to where she left off, and Brittany shrugged, settling deeper into her seat in a bid to rid the prickling on the back of her neck.

"So you'll come?" Mike whispered again, chancing it when Mr Schue turned away to look for the sheet music he brought along.

Brittany weighed her options. If she didn't go, she would probably be stuck at home, staring at equations that she didn't understand till her brain hurt, and clutching her hair over formulas that suddenly didn't make sense. Maybe she would spend her time with her notebook instead. That would be better, writing…

But if she went, she would probably have fun, probably hook up with someone, probably drink too little and dance too much.

It sounded perfect. Especially with the time she was having today.

"Alright. I'll go."

Choosing that particular moment, Mr Schue silenced them once more with a glance, and as he continued on about song choices for the word of the week, Brittany felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Great. I'll pick you up at seven?"

"It's fine, I'll drive my bike, thanks."

"Sweet! I'll text you the address! What about you, Quinn?" Mike turned to whisper to her next, wondering if he could get the girl to come along. Quinn hadn't been to any football parties ever since…

"No, thanks. My mom needs me at home." Quinn replied, a hint of regret in her tone. "Besides," she smirked, keeping her head forward. "I don't really fancy being upstaged by you two. That's why Tina isn't going as well, isn't it?"

The raven-haired girl laughed low, a sly smile of her own on her face.

"Ah, you know me so well, Quinn."

* * *

The bass was thumping, physically sending vibrations into the soles of her feet, like a electric shock to her heart.

Brittany felt alive. The music, the rhythm, the beat. They massaged her brain, and helped her relax, reminding her that life was still moving on despite all her paranoia today.

That had been what she had blamed it on, anyway. Of course people would be looking at her; she _was_ Head Cheerio.

"Britt!" Mike called from where he had been standing in the crowded hallway, waiting for her. Pushing off, he beckoned with his head towards the kitchen. "Want a drink?"

Brittany declined. Tugging the black-and-white striped vest she was wearing over her stomach, she played with her short's suspenders riding low on her hips, a pair of bright yellow high tops on her feet. She waded through the drunk teens, reaching her friend with a smile on her face. She was beyond ready to dance her troubles away.

Brittany loved to dance. The feeling of moving, of not having a right or wrong way to do it, of the music and just _being_. She couldn't always say the right things with her words, or mouth, but she could always say the right things with her body. A tilt of her chin, a spinning on the balls of her feet, the gyrating of her hips. Actions that were as clear to her as the Cyrillic lettering of her writing.

Mike offered his arm, and she took it, tugging as she led the way to the cleared-out living room. Speakers pounded the music into the wall of walking hormones, curling around her and beckoning with a far more seductive invite.

They didn't need words, as they found a spot free from people. The duo just started popping and locking, simultaneously, looking for all the world like they were performing a well-choreographed dance.

They moved with the music, heeding its commanding rhythm, the rise and fall of melodies, and the enticing tides of pop and rock. Slowly, bit by bit, Brittany relaxed, her thoughts mingling with the lyrics, the different tones.

She had no idea how long they stayed on the makeshift dance floor. Her thoughts full of synth and reverbs, she merely nodded when Mike excused himself for a drink. Dehydration hadn't hit her yet, and her eyes slid shut, as she moved her hips and waist slowly, opening her space to whomever wanted to join her.

She didn't open her eyes when a body slid into the spot vacated by Mike, and kept the rhythm in her mouth, humming the noise out with her exhales.

Whoever it was, was a good dancer. She could feel it, thrumming through the air, through the way they seemed to just synch together. Still, she kept her eyes closed, focused on keeping the pace. She didn't want to go too fast without any kind of invitation from her impromptu partner.

At then it came. She sensed it, the minute the intent changed-they started to speed up, adding intricate steps. A pair of fingers barely grazed her hips, and she responded in kind, resting her fingers even lighter on shoulders, letting herself guess. She was kind of surprised when her hands had to drop a bit lower-her partner was shorter than her, but in a nice way.

She noted the feel of soft hair. _A girl?_

A small smile growing on her lips, she decided to be a bit more daring. She probably was only dancing with the Head Cheerio to get a reaction from the boys, to give them a show. Well, she would give her a run for her money.

As the beat picked up and grew more intense, the way she knew it would've, she suddenly turned, pressing herself flush against a slender body, wrapping her fingers in a mess of hair.

"Strike one." She husked out, anticipation colouring her voice with the game.

A warm, startled gasp into her ear made her grin grow sly, squeezing her eyes tighter shut. She felt arms come to encircle her waist, hanging low and loose. Her heartbeat was doing a much faster dance, trying its best to leap out of her chest, or through her ears. The excitement and expectation was fueling its staccato pumps, her mind clearing of anything but the moment itself.

"Strike two." She counted once more, beginning to slowly circle her hips, her butt grazing a pelvic bone.

This time, she got a growl. It sent a shot of heat through the jig in her mind, a small, niggling piece of clarity. Her reactions…

Determined to brush it aside though, to follow through, she fully initiated contact, grinding against the lithe body, pressing her cheek to the side of hair that smelled like spice and the outdoors. The kind of air that she always loved on camping trips with her family. The kind that made her want to turn around and kiss whoever it was with the elusive scent.

Wait, kiss?

It was then that she noticed something else-the music was winding down, as was her concentration on her game. The warmth from behind her seemed to have noticed it too, and Brittany tried not to gasp in shock, when she felt something that nearly carried her off her feet.

A pair of lips on her neck. Feather-light. Barely there.

Familiar lips.

"Strike three. Guess I'm out." A raspy voice whispered into her ear.

Memories of a distant playground, now defunct, drifted to the forefront of her mind, badgering her with details of a meeting that had given her Charity, the sweetest cat she had ever known.

A meeting with an-even then-beautiful girl. One that had pressed a kiss just shy of where she had really wanted it to be.

And as quickly as she had come, she left, and Brittany nearly toppled to the floor, catching herself just in time as her support from behind vanished. The trails of the smooth song they had been dancing to wisped and wrapped around the room, clogging her airways with smoke and deliciously wanton thoughts.

"Wait…" The words whispered out on their own, dragging their claws across the Sahara that was her mouth. "Wait…"

She knew who it was. And she wasn't going to let her go again.

"Wait!"

A flash of dark hair at the edge of the crowd.

* * *

A/N: So, hi there. This is my first fanfic ever, and since I ship Brittana like crazy-c'mon, they're perfect for each other-I figured why not? So, in case there's any confusion, this is a multi-chap, so...and if you guys like it, I would love to know what about it that you do or don't! Also, I'm quite irregular with updates-and I have finals coming up, so *whoop-de-dee*-so I figure you should just follow it to know when I have a new chapter out:D And don't worry. I'm just setting the scene for now;) Thanks!

Review, and make my heart ache with criticism!


	3. The Colour of The Devil's Mistress

Disclaimer: Forgot this the other two times._. but i don't own anything, cept a love for Brittana goodness!

* * *

Brittany felt really sick. She lay on her bed, sniffling, as she hugged herself. Tissues sat on jumbled and rumpled piles around her, cocooning the toned body along with the blankets.

Her mind was spinning, her stomach felt like it was cramping. She couldn't, for the life of her, get the feeling of soft lips on her neck out of her mind.

"Britt, baby? Are you sure you're ok?" A soft voice called from her doorway, making her groan in frustration. She wasn't sick. She knew she wasn't.

It sure felt like it, though.

She had tried to look for the girl, tried to wade through the crowd, tried to get to her. Unfortunately, the other girl was faster, and everyone Brittany had asked had all shrugged and said they didn't see anyone like that, sorry.

Brittany was confused and amazed and frustrated all at once. And when she was confusedly amazed in frustration, she felt like her stomach was tearing itself out, felt like her body was failing her.

She hated the feeling.

Which explained her presence in bed.

"Britt?" Her mother came further into the room, abandoning any pretense of regarding her personal space. When her baby girl had walked into the house with a pained expression on her face, and a very distracted she's fine, thank you, her mothering senses went into a flurry, alerting her to her daughter's mood.

Brittany groaned once more, pulling the comforter up over her head. Her bedroom window was open, letting in the cool night air, her windowseat thrown into shadows and vivid details by the moonlight. Susan frowned.

"Give me something to work with here. Was it the party?"

Brittany sighed. Her mother was right there, but she couldn't talk to her. How would you explain to a _parent_ that you feel like someone's stalking you?

_Hey mom, dad, I think someone's been following me and randomly kissing me, but not for the first time, that was when I was twelve, but it's fine, because I want to meet her. _

Yeah, why didn't she just call the National Guard while she's at it?

Unless

"I guess. I'm more worried about school." There. Brittany technically wasn't lying. She just wasn't telling the entire truth. She had school tomorrow, and yeah, she was kind of afraid. Was the watching sensation coming from the mysterious girl? Because if it was, she didn't know how she felt about it.

"Really? Why? Are the teachers picking on you or something?"

Despite herself, Brittany rolled her eyes. "No mom. The teachers are teachers." Quiet.

Susan tried again. "Did something happen with Quinn?"

Oh god, Quinn. She was probably going to wonder why Brittany hadn't called after the party. She said she would've. "Er, no. Not yet, anyway." Brittany looked through the darkness of her makeshift shelter, pretending she could see through it to gauge her mother's expression. She imagined lips pulled down at the edges, mouth pouting slightly, blue eyes narrowed. Laugh lines around sapphires mistaken for bitterness and confusion, long lashes fluttering over cheekbones as she thought, biting her lips. Brittany knew her mother would be extremely bothered by her attitude, but she couldn't find it in her to tell her truthfully.

"Is it…because of Glee?"

"No, mom. It isn't because of Glee."

"Then, what is it, Britt?"

"School." Thank you Brittany, for making your mother's job hard. Would you like someone to dump more guilt on you? "Mom, it's fine. I'll be fine."

For the first time since coming into the room, Susan noticed the music. It was soft, and slow, and not at all the pop mixes that her daughter loved dancing to. Susan knew this music.

"Britt, baby. You can tell me, you know."

"I know." Her stomach clenched in pain, as guilt tore into her. She promised herself to explain it to her parents later on, whatever it was. She would never be able to forgive herself if she didn't. It just wasn't the way she worked. "But I'll be fine."

Susan paused, blinking, as the first few tremors of fear snaked through her. Brittany never deflected if someone asked her a straightforward question. If she was asked, she told, no matter the subject matter. Susan remembered a time when Quinn would ask her a question in Truth or Dare, and Brittany, for the life of her, would answer with every bit of embarrassing honesty.

(It was how all the Cheerios on the squad knew Britt had had her period in the summer when she was eleven.)

She didn't know how to handle this new side to her daughter. They had always shared a close bond, and it stung slightly to know that Britt was hiding something from her. But Susan would respect it. The same way she respected her children to grow into their own, the way she respected her husband's need to work himself to the bone sometimes, the way she respected Quinn to make her own mistakes and come back from it, leaning on Brittany when she needed to.

She would wait, though. She would always wait, because she knew Brittany would tell her when she was ready.

Swallowing, Susan nodded in the darkness, and laid her hand where she thought Brittany's shoulder was, squeezing gently. "Alright, darling." Getting up, she bit her bottom lip, as she turned, making to leave.

"I'll be right here if you need me." Susan Pierce noted the song, smiling with bittersweet memories as the lyrics flowed to her ears. She remembered when Brittany had been obsessed with the song, playing it over and over till the neighbours complained, and Susan had been afraid the ceiling would come crashing down on the living room because of Brittany's dancing.

"I know, mom." Brittany whispered, closing her eyes, as she remembered dancing freely, letting her limbs flow, and her mind blank as she twirled and jumped and did _jetés _all around the house.

_And the songbirds are singing_

_Like they know the score_

* * *

"Brittany, did you get any sleep?" Quinn's voice was like a mantra that had been repeated the entire day-Brittany had already gotten it from Mike, Tina, Sam, Mercedes, and Puck. She didn't really need it from Quinn.

"The birds were singing in my room yesterday. I couldn't sleep." She mumbled, her head stuck in her locker, as she tried to locate her calculus book. She was sure it had been somewhere here.

Did she bring it home?

"Britt, turn around." The weary tone in her friend's voice had her backing out of the storage space, huffing slightly. "Yeah?" She could have sworn she hadn't.

A hand on her shoulder made her sigh, worrying her bottom lip, as she turned, her hair flying out behind her. "Yes?" There was a lot more bite in it then there should have been.

"Why didn't you call me afterwards? You said you would've." The hurt flashed on the blonde's face for just a moment, before she cast her head down. Now Brittany felt doubly bad. She didn't mean to hurt her. She just needed a moment to breathe-people had been bothering her the entire day, and she hadn't had time to relax, since her teachers had been springing quizzes on her in class-classes that she was pretty sure slipped in some sneaky topics she had never seen before.

The prickling feeling was back as well.

Rubbing her neck, Brittany breathed in deep, trying to calm herself down. Quinn didn't deserve it. She hadn't asked for it.

"I'm sorry." The apology was quiet, but sincere. She had only a few minutes left before having to get to her next class, but she didn't mind being late, if she had to. Quinn was more important than Calculus, anyway.

"Look, I just didn't get any sleep. That's all."

Quinn looked through her eyelashes, her hazel eyes scrutinizing. She knew something was up with her friend, and wanted to help, but she herself couldn't claim to understand Brittany fully.

Sighing, she hugged her books closer to her chest, blinking. "You can't tell me why, can you?"

Brittany shrugged. "Because I don't know."

Nodding ruefully, Quinn tried to restore some of the usual levity of their friendship. "Why do I even bother?"

"Because you're my best friend?" Brittany tried, hopefully. She wanted them to be ok.

Quinn stared at her, a contemplative tilt to her lips. "Yeah. You're mine too."

"Good, because Lord Tubbington would come after you if I wasn't." Brittany teased, happy that her friend wasn't mad. She didn't want her to worry.

Besides, she probably wouldn't see the evasive girl again. The last time, she vanished for five years.

Who's to say it wouldn't happen again?

* * *

Glee Club was honestly, the best part of her day. Brittany couldn't think of any other place she wanted to be, sometimes. She liked it better than the Cheerios, other times, because at least in the choir room, she could relax when she danced, knowing that her teammates wouldn't be bothered if she missed a step, or didn't know what to do.

Besides, they had the best reactions to her jokes.

"Brittany, why don't you and Mike come up here and show us the routine for our next assignment?" Today, the choir room was set up differently, the chairs against the whiteboard, and everyone on the floor. Brittany had asked for it, so that she could utilize the steps for her demonstration, since they would have platforms in their rendition this time.

She really needed to dance away everything. Her breath had been hitching every time someone called her name. She had been waiting for this moment the entire day.

Nodding to the Glee teacher, Brittany stood up, meeting Mike there. Scratching the back of her neck, she walked over to the bottom step. Brad, behind the piano, gave her a thumbs up, as he grinned quietly. No one paid attention to Brad, but Brad paid attention to everybody, and knew how nervous Brittany sometimes got about her routines.

Smiling back at him-it seemed like the most genuine smile she had for anything that day-Brittany bounced slightly to get into it, rolling her weight from her heels to the balls of her feet, to the heel once more.

_I had a way then _

_Losing it all on my own_

_I had a heart then _

_But the queen has been overthrown_

The song started, the acoustic version familiar to her, the arrangement helping her time her movements perfectly. She danced, running circles around her partner, who followed her perfectly, stepping as she stepped, pulling her to him when the dance called for it, supporting her as she dipped and jumped.

Alright, so maybe she was differing from the routine a bit, but Mike was right there with her, with a familiarity born from countless times they tangoed and waltzed.

It seemed he was a bit excitable that day too, as suddenly, he led, while she shamelessly trusted him, running after him as he climbed a step, holding onto her hand. The song reached a climax in its chorus, and she grinned, loving the way she felt trying to keep up with the guy.

They stepped and bounced, stupid, goofy grins on their faces.

Suddenly, the music stopped, as a commotion rang outside, and Brittany was pulled from her blissful moment, pushed into reality, where pervasive eyes she didn't know bore into her with an intensity to hurt. It was back, and she panted, feeling disoriented as she rubbed the skin on her neck. Sharing a glance with Mike, who shrugged, Brittany stepped off the stage, to where Quinn had stood with her back ramrod straight, eyes narrowed.

Mr Schue had stood as well, walking to the doorway, determined to find out what was going on. Finn, ever the meat-headed jock, lumbered along behind him, and Brittany found Sam and Mercedes beside her suddenly, looking as perplexed as she was.

Motioning to everyone to stay inside, Mr Schue went out into the hallway with Finn, as Artie wheeled over to the middle of the room, Puck close behind. The New Directions members grouped together, and Kurt and Blaine hovered, not hiding the fact that they were as curious as everyone else.

Just as they shared questioning looks, a scream rang from outside.

"That sounded…disturbing." Kurt began, sharing glances with everyone. Brittany saw his boyfriend reach for his hand, and she knew that the fashionable boy was nervous.

A knot formed in Brittany's stomach, as the prickling grew stronger. Sweat began forming on her palms, and she wiped them furiously on her skirt, trying to slow down her heart rate. Mr Schue would come back and tell them right? If something was wrong?

Peeking at Quinn, Brittany tiptoed, trying to look over all their heads to the doorway, where students were milling around, looking around confusedly, some directing their attention to the source somewhere further up the corridor. Brittany started to count down from five, wondering if the teacher and his little sidekick had figured out the problem yet.

When she reached one, Mr Schue and Finn still hadn't stepped back in.

Something thudded in her temples, causing her stomach to tense involuntarily. She didn't know what was happening, but she felt anticipation coil in her muscles.

It was important. The next few seconds were important.

Gunshots.

Everyone in the room screamed, throwing themselves to the floor, because sweet holy hell, the sounds were close. Brittany found her cheek pressed against the floor, protecting Quinn's smaller frame with her longer one, and her friends in similar positions-Artie had shot himself out of his chair, his eyes wide with terror.

More screams from outside, as footsteps stampeded past their doors, and Brittany wondered where Mr Schue and Finn were.

Puck swore, pushing himself up, as he turned towards the entrances to the choir room, and quickly ran to shut them, locking them in, and the others out. It seemed he needn't have bothered, as the students outside were in too much of a panic to do anything, other than scream, and run towards the exit down the hallway.

Suddenly, he stilled, his eyes growing wide, and his breath catching, as he stumbled back from the door, gesturing wildly for everyone to press themselves against the walls and hide.

Pulling her best friend up with her, Brittany shoved them against a corner made by two walls, effectively shielding them from view and bullets. The band members pressed against the small alcove, dragging Brad with them, and her friends crouched by the wall with the whiteboard.

Silence reigned inside, as muffled yells continued, the stifled pandemonium pressing into Brittany's ears and making her head ring, as she rested her forehead on the wall behind Quinn's head.

"Britt…"

"Shh, Quinn." She tried to reassure her friend, whose breaths were coming in short bursts. "It's going to be alright."

"Britt, I'm scared."

"Me too." Brittany shushed her once more, pulling away to peek at the doors. The noise had shifted further down the hallway, leading Brittany to wonder if it was safe to come out yet. She looked through the glass window in the door.

And that was when she saw her.

Eyes that she knew would be brown, red lips that were fuller than she remembered, tan skin that glinted, even under the harsh fluorescent lights. Dark hair that curled and framed a soft face, lashes that Brittany was sure were long, and a petite body that had filled out nicely over the years.

Awkward limbs were but a distant memory, as Brittany noticed the way they filled black jeans and a leather jacket, a worn bag hanging over a shoulder.

She was back. The same girl Brittany had been thinking about since she was twelve. She was finally back.

The gasp escaped her lips before she could control it, sounding harsh in the otherwise tense room. But she couldn't help it, not when her eyes landed on what the girl had in her hand.

A shiny, black gun.

Her lips moved, forming around what Brittany would only guess to be a curse, as her eyes moved furtively, searching for something. She seemed frenzied, harried, wild.

And positively sexy.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Brittany, you did not just think that.

This time, when she sucked in a breath, those intense dark eyes cut to her.

They widened in recognition, widened with surprise. Naturally pouty lips dropped open, staring for a moment, as her hand relaxed on the grip of her gun. Brittany noticed the way she blinked, like she couldn't believe the messages her corneas were sending to her brain.

She couldn't believe it either. A buzzing filled her ears, as she stared, unwilling to pull her gaze away, and a warmth bloomed on her neck and beside her mouth, tingling.

Another gunshot pulled the brunette's eyes away, and the Latina cursed again, the noise loud enough to filter into the quiet of the choir room. Brittany's heart nearly stopped. The rasp was the way she had heard it last night.

As was with the other two times, the girl made to leave, lifting her gun up as she began to back down the hallway. Brittany recognised the move, knew what was going to happen before it even did.

She was going to vanish _again_.

Brittany couldn't let that happen.

"No!" The word ripped out of her mouth much like the gasp did, and she lunged away from the corner, from her friend, to rush towards the door. "Wait!"

Wait. All she needed was for the other girl to wait.

The way she had been waiting for five years, the way she hadn't known she had been waiting all along.

"Wait!"

Eyes that could have been mistaken for night swiveled in their sockets, landing on Brittany with a passion, as she reached the doorway, disregarding the shocked gasps of her friends. She pounded against the door, pawing at the locks to get free.

"Wait!" She yelled again, pulling on the door handle, beginning to wrench it open.

It opened an inch, before being pulled shut once more. From the outside.

She gaped through the glass, at the suddenly stoic face before her, lined with determination and purpose, as she held tight on the handle on her end.

"No." Brittany rattled the doorknob, desperate and confounded. "No! Please!" She slammed the wood with her fists, realizing that the smaller girl was strong as well, if not even more. "Please! Why won't you wait!"

The girl's eyes grew bigger, even as her features fell into shock again, slackening. Pain flashed across her face, as she chanced a glance down the hallway she had just come from, conflict in her eyes and body. When she turned back to face Brittany, her mouth was curling to hug words, moving slowly so Brittany could read them.

_I'm sorry._

She pressed her lips against the glass, and was gone.

Leaving Brittany with nothing but an empty heart and a lipstick stain smudged against the transparent surface.

* * *

_"Damn it!"_

_"Did you get her?"_

_"No, what the hell! Someone else showed up before I could!"_

_"Was it…"_

_"Who else?"_

* * *

God, Brittany really needed to sleep.

"What were you thinking Britt? Are you insane? Were you suicidal?" Quinn ranting at her really wasn't helping her mood any, surprisingly enough. Brittany sighed, wrapping the scratchy thermal blanket tighter around herself, leaning her head against the side of the ambulance. She adjusted her position on the edge of the open back, sagging against cool metal.

Her head was pounding, and starting to follow the rhythm of Quinn's tirade. She really hoped her best friend would stop and let her try to pull herself together. The tear tracks stung in the cool air.

Police officers milled around, talking to everyone, making sure to note down what every Tom, Dick, and Henrietta said, and directing those more shaken up towards waiting EMTs. Their navy blue uniforms were calming, and Brittany tried to focus on that, instead of the verbal tongue lashing she was getting.

And to think there would be round two later on from her family.

She wished Lord Tubbington and Charity were here.

Her shoulders were gripped, and she forced her wandering gaze up to her now silent companion. They were filled with nothing but worry and concern, as they probed her, worried at her indifferent shell.

"Britt…" Her name begged for an explanation, pleaded for some reasoning.

The only one she could offer was a very weak shrug. It hurt, but it was the only one she could give, after her brain had been so rightfully meddled.

A uniformed man walked past with his superior, looking quite distressed. "…couldn't get anything, because the crime scene's been compromised."

Oh. Was it because of her? Brittany distinctly remembered wiping her fingers over the imprint, rubbing it between her fingers when the officers had come in to assure them of their safety.

She shivered again, involuntarily, as she stared down at her hands, hands that had always seemed so capable before, but had let her down once more, when she really needed them.

She hated the feeling.

She raised them to her face, hiding herself, pretending she was anywhere else but here, with a troubled friend who couldn't understand, and waiting on anxious family members to pick her up.

She wished the girl had waited.

* * *

The shooting was in the papers, plastered over the front page in blocky, angry print, mocking her as she sat on the stool at the counter, poking at her cereal.

Ashley leaned over on her elbows for a bite of the brightly coloured grains, trying to get her sister to acknowledge her. She knew something had happened yesterday-her sister had looked sad when she came home, sandwiched between her parents, who kept hovering. She had been called home from Kelsi's house, where she had been having a playdate, and her parents had pulled her into their embrace, squashing her into Brittany, who had swept her up and snuggled her tight.

"Britty?" She tried, timid, when the girl that everyone always saw smiling didn't even raise her head. Brittany was too fixated on the newspaper, where it sat by their father's elbow, and their mother stared agitatedly between the two of them.

Their father coughed lightly, as he realized what his eldest had been staring at, and picked it up. He shook out the event that had rushed him from work, thrown him into a car, and led him to speed towards William McKinley High. He stared at a blank face, dark even though the morning sunlight fell across beautiful features. His daughter hadn't said a word since then.

"Dad, can you read it out loud?" Her question took him off-guard, his shock visible on his face, though Brittany hadn't lifted her gaze. Susan reached across the table to grasp her hand, squeezing slightly.

"Darling, are you sure?"

A muted nod.

Breathing in deep, John Pierce skimmed a few lines of the article, before clearing his throat. In his deep bass, he read.

"The shots that rang through the halls of William McKinley High School were not sounds that any student should have heard in any safe environment. At approximately 3.15 pm, yesterday, students stampeded out of the building to escape from a woman shooting in the west wing, by the Literature and History classrooms."

Brittany's face twitched.

"The unidentified shooter made her way over to where the entrances were, bypassing a choir room full of students, and paused there for a moment, before leaving."

Brittany's eyes narrowed.

"Witnesses say she left a lipstick smudge that was wiped away by a student, and Finn Hudson, a student at the school, confirms that she was holding a gun, possibly law enforcement issued."

Brittany's hand tightened around her mother's.

"A teacher at the school declined comment, but made it clear that no one was hurt. 'I can't say that everyone's fine; we're all shaken up. But our top priority is to find this shooter.' This reporter also got a quick comment from Police Chief Trellini. 'The suspect is of tan skin, dark hair, average height, and armed. Anyone with information is expected to come forward to help us track her down to make this town safe again.' In light of the incident, the school has been shut down for the weekend, and will resume operations next Monday."

John put the paper down, flickering over to his daughter, who had donned a very complicated face. There were so many emotions, ones that flitted and chanced her face only fleetingly. The only other time he could remember her being this way was the day she had brought Charity back home, claiming that someone had given her to her, and begged to be allowed to keep her.

The hesitance in his voice brought Brittany back from her stupor. "Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Susan asked, squeezing her hand once more. Her daughter seemed really bothered, and she didn't know how to help.

"No."

"Are you sure?" John pitched in, leaning forward.

"Yeah. Can I be excused?"

Her parents exchanged glances, worry apparent, before nodding their agreement. "Go ahead, honey." Her mother said, pulling her hand away. It pained her to see their daughter withdraw once more, but if time alone is what she needed…

Brittany pushed back her chair, dully noting the scrape it made on the tiles, and she walked out of the kitchen, her eyes unfocused. Her mind was a blur of thoughts, all rushing too fast for her to think properly.

Finn had said her girl was the one that started the shootings. Somehow, she found that hard to believe. For some reason, in her stomach, Brittany knew that her dark-haired Latina hadn't done that. Shoot, maybe, but she wasn't the one that started it. She wondered how he could have seen her girl at all. Maybe he had been in the one of the classrooms with Mr Schue…

Wait, _her_ girl? When had Brittany started referring to her as hers?

Shaking her head vigorously, Brittany shut the door behind her, as she entered her room, preparing to flop onto her bed to try to sort through the mess she was in at the moment.

She did just that, snagging her phone from her bedside table, noticing that she had four missed calls, all from Quinn, and a few texts from her Glee friends, all checking up on her and each other. Her heart warmed at the amount of concern everyone displayed towards each other; even Puck had sent her one. She began typing out individual messages to everyone-I'm fine, but the police officer who gave me the ticket wasn't-deciding to leave Quinn's call last. It wasn't that she was avoiding her friend or whatever; Brittany just needed a few minutes to rest her head.

A meow had her jumping, almost out of her skin, but she relaxed once she felt fur brushing against her ankles. Charity climbed up her body, padding all over her, settling on her chest. Charity was a lot more…streamlined than Lord Tubbs, so Brittany had no trouble breathing. She reached a hand up to stroke through the silky pelt, feeling herself calm down with the motions.

Just like the night before, Brittany had barely gotten any sleep, and what little she did manage to get were barely passable as such. Dreams she couldn't remember danced all night, and she had woken up multiple times, one time on the floor from where she had fallen off in her restlessness.

She was way overdue. Maybe now would be a good time for a nap. Her body certainly thought so, responding to the comfort and heat from her pet.

Her friends could wait…

A thud of something on wood had her eyes flying open once more, breath picking up. Someone was in her room.

* * *

A/N: And the plot thickens...hmm. The image of Santana with a gun just pops into my head at the most random times nowadays *not that I'm complaining* Anyways, I hope you like this chapter too! And what do you think? Will it be Santana in her room? :)

Review, my lovelies!


	4. Female Robbery

"Britt, you _need_ to pick up your phone!" Quinn's huffy voice made Brittany relax somewhat. Who had she been expecting? The girl?

Slowly, she sat up, nudging Charity with her, before cradling the feline against her chest, giving her a kiss between the eyes. Brittany sighed, as she glanced up at Quinn, who was standing by her open window, arms crossed as she cocked her hip. It was obvious her friend was very ticked off.

"Sorry, Quinn. I was just getting to it…"

"Doesn't matter. Look, we have a problem."

Quinn never called things a 'problem', unless it involved Brittany being in trouble. Even the day after she slept with Puck, she had come over to Brittany's with a tub of ice-cream, a slightly disturbed look on her face, and a simple, "Something happened." For her to call anything a problem now, probably meant that Brittany had better pay attention.

"Some of the police officers are asking for any information on the person who 'compromised their crime scene'." Quinn stalked over to the bed, sitting opposite Brittany, fixing her legs to the side. Brittany tilted her head, thinking.

"Wait. They're looking for me?"

"According to statements, apparently, they think that you had contact with the woman who started the shooting."

"Why do they think she started the shooting?"

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "They don't. She's the only suspect-the cameras by the choir room don't work, remember?" Ah, count on good old William McKinley to sacrifice security when it comes to budget cuts.

"We always use them when we cut class to shop, I know." Brittany remarked casually, still a bit caught up on her question. "So they think I would know her?"

Quinn watched her friend carefully. Brittany didn't seem any different. In fact, she didn't seem bothered at all by the fact that the police were after her-it was almost like her best friend was more concerned about the woman getting caught than she was.

She thought back to yesterday, the way Brittany had looked after her. Protecting her with her body both times. Brittany was loyal to a fault, her naïve view of the world tempered by her simple ideas of what was right, and wrong. Those ideals had been the source of many troubles, leading her to look for the good in everyone.

Quinn served as the voice of reason, more often than not.

"I think that they think you do."

Brittany squinted at the odd phrasing. There was a question there, unspoken and heavy and hanging. She could feel it pulse in the air between them, and Charity shifted, curling deeper into her. Setting the girl in her lap, Brittany bit her bottom lip again. She wondered how to answer it.

Quinn had definitely seen her run for the mysterious shooter. The entire Glee club had seen her try to open the door for the girl. Everyone had seen the way she had banged against it when the other girl hadn't let her open it.

And Quinn had seen her rubbing the lipstick between her fingers.

To anyone else, that should have indicated nothing less than some sort of familiarity.

But Brittany knew that she didn't know the girl at all. Didn't know if she was the one that had started the shootings, didn't know if she could be trusted, didn't even know her name.

"Do you think that I do?"

Quinn sighed, reaching out to pet Charity. As far as she knew, Brittany had never met the girl in her life. But someone definitely didn't just rush over to meet a potential shooter just _because_. As much as it pained her to think about it, Quinn couldn't shrug off the feeling that Britt definitely knew more than she was telling.

Especially about the way the shooter had pulled the door back…

"Quinn…" Brittany tried, feeling the air curdle instead, the tension warping, and she imagined all the oxygen being sucked into a time portal to a different dimension. She didn't want to damage their friendship-Quinn meant a lot to her. She just couldn't tell her something she wasn't sure herself, just like with her parents.

She didn't want to hurt any of them.

Her best friend looked up, a distant look in her eyes, and Brittany recognized the expression. Her friend was thinking about something painful.

"You're pretty sure I do, huh." A statement. Not a question. She expected it, but that didn't stop the thorn tearing into the side of her heart.

"I don't know, Britt. You don't just rush up to random strangers. With a gun, no less. It's just not done."

"Don't sigh like that, Quinn." Brittany pleaded, reaching over to rest a hand on a slim wrist. "I don't…I mean, I do…but not that way, and…I just…"

Hearing her normally confident friend stumble, Quinn felt bad, and reached up to squeeze the tight fingers. "Look, I know how you feel about…well, actually, I don't know, but I'm not going to push. You obviously haven't understood it yourself, so I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to. Remember what happened the last time Coach tried to make you do something you didn't want to?"

Brittany had to chuckle, despite the atmosphere. "I remember. We totally messed up the routine and walked the extra laps she was making us run, huh?"

Nodding along, Quinn couldn't hide her own smile of amusement, feeling the emotions edging away. They were going to be alright. Britt would tell her when she was ready. Until then, though…

"Not to bring the mood back down, or anything, but everyone's been wondering what to tell the cops." Quinn squinted, silently seething, because it was all Finn's fault. The huge doof had went and gotten himself publicly interviewed, and set the police to looking for a student. Thank god he hadn't noticed that it was Brittany, because Rachel had jumped and started fawning over him with her sucky tentacles. She couldn't believe she had ever thought about settling for the boy.

Brittany though, had gone silent, her lightness from before a distant memory. "Everyone?"

"In Glee. We didn't know if you wanted to, you know…?"

Brittany's heart felt like it wasn't able to pump for a moment. Casting her eyes down, she resumed her strokes on the calico's fur, Charity purring in delight as Brittany tried to pass on how touched she was that her friends were trying to protect her. They didn't need to…

Come to think about it, why should they need to? As she had already decided before, she didn't know anything about her girl. And all three times they had met, she hadn't said more than five words to Brittany. What sort of impression was that?

They certainly weren't friends, and despite how the girl seemed to like trying to kiss her whenever they met, Brittany was pretty sure they weren't in a relationship. She should have found it creepy though.

And that was the thing. The be all, and end all for her. The girl, no matter how much of a shadow she was, was someone Brittany couldn't bear to bring herself to rat out. And it wasn't just because she seemed too beautiful to be involved in anything even remotely wrong; it was because the girl was what Brittany had been waiting for her entire life, without even knowing she was.

Sure, Brittany had the 'perfect' life, but something had always felt missing, like she was in a inflatable dinghy with a lifetime supply of chocolate and Lord Tubbs and Charity and her family, and yet cast out in the middle of a wide ocean.

The girl was the water, tsunamis that engulfed Brittany's mind whenever they met, and for a long time after, setting her supplies all over the place, and upending her companions. And other times the girl was the calm before the sunrise on the horizon, the promise of something beautiful and huge and hopeful.

Brittany sighed. A thought was jerking around at the back of her mind, bringing it back to the article. Finn had said the girl was the shooter. Finn had heard the shots and seen the gun. Finn hadn't said anything about whoever she was shooting at, and the newspapers said no one was hurt.

Her heart thudded, as it finally caught up with her.

There had been someone else. Someone else that was definitely shooting-Brittany remembered the gunshot when she had begged the brunette to stay. The girl had actually looked afraid, when she heard it. And despite her holding the gun, she hadn't shot it, merely aimed. Not to mention that she was keeping Brittany _inside_ the room, where it was safer than the hallway.

What did this mean?

Her girl hadn't started it, probably. There was definitely someone else that was involved.

The police didn't know about the second person though.

"Quinn." Brittany's fingers grabbed her friend's thigh, leaving red marks when she pulled away just as quickly, an energy buzzing through her. This was big. Her girl wasn't the shooter, she was sure of it. Something just kept telling her that she wasn't. She had to believe it. "Quinn, there was someone else."

Quinn's gaze narrowed as well, as she no doubt replayed the memories of yesterday. Slowly, Brittany saw the realization in her eyes. "Now that I think about it, yeah. You're right. She hadn't shot that last one, if her hand was holding onto the doorknob. Unless she was some sort of assassin that was strong enough to shoot one handed." The wry tone of her voice told Brittany that she found that idea as improbable as the first, though.

Well, it could have been possible-Brittany was on the Cheerios and she was strong, but the other girl had been stronger. Holding her own against Brittany would have taken _a lot_.

Still, it wasn't the issue, because Brittany knew she hadn't pulled the trigger. Someone else did, and she had to make sure the police knew that.

Gently lifting Charity, Brittany made to get out of bed. "Quinn, we should all go and tell them, right? I mean, everyone in Glee totally saw that, right? Then she wouldn't be in trouble for something she didn't do!"

An insistent hand pulled her back down, hazel eyes blazing. "Relax, Sherlock. We still need to know that the others saw it too. We don't want them lying and not getting the story out straight. That'll just be a mess later on." Quinn explained, reaching down with her free hand to toss Brittany her phone, and getting her own out. "Dial. You do Mike, Tina, Puck, Kurt and Blaine. I'll do Joe, Mercedes, Sam and Artie."

"What do I ask?"

"Ask them if they saw the girl pull the trigger."

* * *

Brittany felt numb. Eyes narrowed in concentration, she carefully set the small device back onto her bedspread.

None of her friends could say that they didn't see her pull the trigger. But none of them could say that she didn't, either.

They were back to square one.

Again, Brittany wondered why she was trying so hard to defend the girl. It wasn't like she knew her or anything.

What if she had been shooting? Then Brittany would be an accomplice! And Quinn too!

"Nothing on my end. Looks like we were the only ones that saw that she never actually pulled the trigger; everyone was pressed up against the wall, I think." Quinn sighed, running a hand through her short hair. If she closed her eyes and breathed hard enough, she could still smell the pink dye that she had put into it after Beth was born.

Quinn had lost herself after giving up her daughter, but it had been for the best. At least the little girl would be able to have a mother able to care for her. Unlike Quinn, who was so emotionally damaged, it would take a miracle for them to have anti-depressants for her type.

"Britt, are you alright? You're breathing really hard."

"Quinn, aren't we accomplices?"

"What?"

"I mean, what if she was the one? What if she was the one that had started shooting? Wouldn't we be part of her gang now?"

"What are you talking about?" Quinn didn't understand it. First it seemed as though Brittany was protecting the shooter-or non-shooter, whichever applied-and now it seemed like she was ready to throw herself at the police headquarters.

Brittany bit her lower lip, fretting. "I mean, what if she was the one that did shoot, and we're trying to defend her, and the police find out and they get angry, and we get into trouble too, and now you're in it, and…"

"Breathe, Britt!" Quinn commanded, holding the other blonde's head carefully. "Gosh, I thought you were going to pass out, Rachel Berry."

Immediately, Brittany stiffened, momentarily forgetting her panic. "Hey! I'm not Rachel!"

"Then calm down. Gosh." Quinn rolled her eyes. "Look, if the police come, you tell them exactly what you've seen, alright? They'll at least try not to arrest your girl on the spot."

_Your girl_. The words tingled deliciously on her neck and the side of her mouth, and Brittany blushed.

Quinn noticed this, and her jaw dropped. "No way! You like her, don't you? You know her, and you like her!"

"What? No!" Brittany flustered, getting up and stepping over Charity, suddenly feeling hot and settling on her window seat. Quinn didn't let up, merely turning herself around fully, a stunned expression still on her face.

"You totally do!"

"No, I do not!"

"Britt, you're a horrible liar."

"I am not!"

"So you admit you were lying?"

Brittany groaned, flopping onto her side on the cushion and smothering her face with a pillow. No, of course not! She would actually have to know the girl for that to happen, right?

The pillow was pulled away, and Brittany was met with white teeth stretched in a dazzlingly triumphant grin. "Oh my god, no! You totally do!"

It was strange to see Quinn this insistent and gloating-she was usually more reserved and proper, and Brittany was the excitable one. Brittany rolled over, hiding her face in the cloth. "No, I do not! I don't even know her name!"

"But you like her enough to not want to rat her out! Wait," Quinn stopped suddenly, her tone turning suspicious. "When did you meet her? What did she say? How come I don't know this?"

Brittany was screwed.

* * *

"Wow." Was all Quinn could say. "So she's this weird, mysterious superhero?"

Brittany nodded, leaning back against the small alcove of her window. Quinn sat on the other side, her feet dangling over the seat edge. "Well, not superhero, per se. We don't know what she was doing in school yesterday."

The sunlight fell across their faces as Brittany stared out, the morning creeping fully on them when they weren't looking.

"Well, I think." Her best friend began, a small smile of amusement on her face. "That she's a superhero, at least to you. I mean, she tried to keep you _inside_, not let you come out, remember?"

Brittany flushed again, and didn't bother trying to hide it when Quinn giggled. According to the other girl, Brittany had been doing it often, ever since they got started on the topic of the girl.

"Whatever, Q." A beat, before she asked the one question that had been nagging at her ever since they started on the subject. "How can you keep so calm about this? Are…is this ok? With you?"

Quinn observed Brittany's face, the small smirk never leaving hers. "Is this ok with _you_? Because I can totally go all freaky on you if you need me to, but it's not my style."

Brittany rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "No, it's more than ok, it's just…I just know she won't hurt me, you know? Somehow, I do, and I believe that. I mean, if she meant to hurt me, she could have done it at the party." Quinn nodded along, her agreement showing. Her lips parted to say something else, but before she could, a ringing interrupted her.

The funeral dirge's dreary tones marched through the air, and Brittany knew who it was. Quinn rolled her eyes at Brittany's slightly amused and disapproving look, and pressed the green button on her phone.

"Hey, mom…mmhmm…just at Britt's…yeah. Alright. No! _No_. Mom!" Her voice steadily grew louder, and Quinn's face coloured, and Brittany recognized it for embarrassment. Hiding her own laughter, Brittany coughed, staring out the window, as her friend was no doubt being nagged for some trivial matter once more.

Sighing, she leant her forehead against the warmed glass, as Quinn began to argue half-heartedly opposite her. Brittany didn't know what to think. Honestly, her heart was telling her she could trust her, but her head? Totally different matter.

"I wish I could talk to you…" The whisper left her mouth without her even thinking about it, and her warmer breath created a patch of heat on the window. Staring out at the front of her house, she wondered if she would ever see the girl again. It would be kind of rude if she didn't.

Brittany's eyes almost skittered right over the outline beneath the tree.

Her feet shifted, nearly kicking Quinn in the face, as she swung herself fully in her seat, eyes widening. Quinn made a noise of protest, getting up and moving away, continuing her conversation on Brittany's bed, as Brittany pressed her hands flat against her glass.

She wasn't kidding. It was the girl.

Transfixed, she watched the way the girl shuffled, dark gaze hidden, but Brittany could feel it. The shade from the tree cast their creeping shadows on the sidewalk, and the girl moved till she was just at the edge, stepping just so.

The leather jacket was still there, the bag on her shoulder. She looked the same as she did yesterday.

But Brittany wasn't looking at her the same.

As though she knew Brittany wasn't going to make a move, the girl reached into her jacket, and Brittany inched back, her friend's chatter into the phone a distant background. Was she going to shoot her? Was Brittany right all along?

She watched, and waited, heart pumping like it was trying to put out a fire.

The girl pulled out something, and carefully, deliberately, placed it on the ground, weighing it down with a stone. Brittany knew their gazes held the entire time.

She backed away, back into the dark, and was gone, hidden by the canopy of low-hanging leaves, and the thick trunk. Somehow, Brittany knew deep in her gut that she wouldn't find her there if she looked.

But she had been right there. And left her a note.

Brittany's feet were moving before even she managed to process it, headed straight for the door. Quinn's voice was a faded echo at the moment, and Brittany couldn't get the image of the paper being placed on the ground out of her mind. What was it? A message? A threat?

She needed to find out.

No one stopped her as she stepped outside-her family had all been in the living room when she slipped by quietly-and Brittany's sneakers fell softly against the pavement as she walked across the sidewalk to cross the road. Barely sparing a glance to check if it was clear, she made her way over it, eyes trained on the harmless-looking piece of paper. The shadows made patterns into the white, lined scrap, and the sun gently teased a squint from Brittany's eyes.

Her fingers were pulsating, and she didn't even know it was possible. Reaching them out, Brittany squatted, perfectly balanced with her heels on the ground, and felt the crinkly texture of the note. Pulling it free, she slowly unfolded it, her forehead wrinkling, and read.

Four simple words.

_I didn't do it._

* * *

Quinn gave Brittany her patented 'what-did-I-tell-you?' look, her half-smirk making her very hard to read for others-Brittany, on the other hand, could always guess what her bestie was thinking. And what her best friend was thinking was definitely setting Brittany's heart racing, even though she was in the safety of her room once more, and no danger in sight.

Well, if you didn't call the police possibly coming along a danger, of course.

She had come to look for her. For Brittany. The mysterious girl had risked getting caught to find Brittany.

Good lord, if that wasn't the single most creepiest, and yet, sweetest, thing anyone had ever done for her.

"Nope. No, Q. No."

Holding her hands up, the smirk just grew wider. "Hey, I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it." Brittany accused, and when Quinn laughed, she rolled her eyes. "And, stop. She's probably just trying to clear her name; that's why she went looking for me."

"Yeah, and she doesn't say, 'Tell the police I didn't do it, or I'll kill you,' or anything. It's a very polite, 'I didn't do it, Britt, baby,'" The snicker Quinn let loose made Brittany pout and blush at the same time.

"Q…! Stop it!"

Quinn shrugged, reaching over to pinch her friend's cheeks. "Britt, you're all grown up now! With a suitor, no less!"

"Q!"

Chuckling one last time, Quinn, flopped onto bed with her friend, sobering up as her cynical side decided to make itself known once more. Sighing, she nearly jumped out of bed when Charity and Lord Tubbs both meowed disgruntledly. "Sorry, Charity, Tubbs." Apologising to cats. Quinn rolled her eyes, and decided to quickly get out what she had to say before she got sidetracked again.

"Look, don't you find it strange? That she has this…weird fascination with you? I'm not trying to offend you, or anything, Britt, but just so we're clear, you don't think you're in any trouble yourself, right?"

"No." Brittany truly didn't think the girl meant _her_ harm, but everyone else? Brittany didn't know. She played with the piece of paper, run smooth with the number of times she ran the pads of her fingers over it.

"And you don't think it's weird that she's…you know." Quinn's mouth twisted as she tried to think of a way to put what she wanted to delicately. "Kissing you?" Blunt it is then.

Brittany turned, chewing her bottom lip. "I don't know, Quinn." She stares back down at the piece of paper, torn from a notebook, obviously. A hand unconsciously came up to touch the corner of her mouth.

"I don't know."

* * *

Sugar really hated doing undercover work. Honestly.

* * *

It had taken a lot of arguing, and pleading, and promises to be safe, but the ultimate clincher was Quinn.

Brittany bounced up and down, next to her dirtbike, her helmet in her hands as she waited for her friend to back her car into the driveway. Quinn felt a smile creep across her face at her friend's enthusiasm; the girl had always loved motorcross.

"Britt, load it up!" Quinn called, popping the back of her car open. Brittany smiled at her friend's thoughtfulness-she had taken out the back seats and laid newspaper down to allow her space to place her bike.

"Thanks Quinn!" Brittany started, hefting her heavy machine into the back, barely noticing its familiar weight. "And I hope you don't get too bored at the track; I know you have better things to do on a Sunday."

Quinn rolled her eyes at her friend. "I volunteered, remember? Since Ashley has that soccer tournament and all-and I could always read a book to pass the time."

"Glad to see you so excited to see me show off my moves." Brittany teased, bumping shoulders with her gently. Her parents had been reluctant to let her leave so soon after the incident, but when Quinn had offered to bring her over to the motorcross track after church, they had relented. She did need to get back to normal, as Quinn had argued.

All Quinn had to offer in return was another eye-roll.

Once the car was loaded, they got in and took off, Brittany bouncing in her seat as she gave directions to the dirt bowl just outside of town. Quinn was kind of glad that she seemed to be distracted enough to smile-things the past few days had been confusing, and her friend hadn't been herself for the most part.

Pulling into the parking lot, Quinn noted the sheer amount of vehicles filling the lots, and people milling around. "Wow, there are so many people."

"Yeah. My coach and I use the training track beyond, but there's a tourney now at the main track. You can watch it, if you want?"

Shaking her head, Quinn killed the engine, turning around to inwardly snicker at the minivan she had just cut off. The navy blue mom-mobile passed by slowly, the windows darkly tinted, and Quinn assumed the family inside weren't too happy. But hey, you snooze, you lose (your parking spot).

Getting out, she helped Brittany pull out her yellow bike, covered in dirt and mud from the last time. "Gosh, Britt, clean your monster, will you?"

"Hey, Vi's alright. Leave her alone." Pouting, Brittany shut the door as Quinn tried not to look like she was struggling with the uneven weight of her baby.

"Whatever. Seriously, though. The rugged look? Not really her thing."

Snorting, Brittany pulled on her racing outfit-riding pants and jacket, the word 'Pierce' lettering the back of the dark outerwear-worrying the hem.

"You seem to be very knowledgeable about a sport you've never watched, Quinn."

"What can I say? I'm a fast learner."

"And a good liar."

"I am a good Christian girl." Brittany just shot her a look, shutting down any arguments Quinn might have with the memory of junior year.

Huffing, the shorter blonde threw her hands up, regardless of the bike. "Fine. One time."

"Better be. Not till you're married though."

"Enough. Come on, mother, you're going to be late for practice." With that, Brittany smirked, moving to wheel her ride to a door hidden by an alcove, by the side of the massive stadium. Quinn followed close behind, steaming slightly that Brittany had used the baby card on her. Nothing was sacred with that girl.

When Brittany spotted her coach, she grinned, waving her friend towards the bleachers on the sides of the course, a smaller version of the original just in front. It wasn't that different-more challenging, of course-and Brittany trained here when there was a race and they couldn't utilize the big track.

Affectionately called 'Coach' by everyone, Brittany's motorcross instructor was a year younger than she was. That didn't stop the brunette though, especially when she got on a bike. She owned the sport, and everyone that was under her tutelage knew it. There were rumours that she had gotten so good at it because her millionaire father wanted her to do drug runs for him.

Of course, rumours.

"Coach!" The teen turned, her brown hair held in place with a sparkly hairband, and her signature pink tracksuit a horrifying contrast with the nature of the sport. In her hand, she held a fluffy pen, the feather drifting in the slight breeze as she paused a conversation with a deliveryman. Waving enthusiastically at Brittany, Coach held up a hand, and returned to her conversation, the figure stooping a little bit more in their horrible yellow work clothes. Brittany was sure that she wouldn't want to ever work with the post office, if that was the uniform.

Ugh.

Deciding to set up at the starting line first, she wheeled Vi over to the point, waving when she saw Quinn taking a seat in the otherwise empty seating area. Her friend crossed her legs in her dress, her knee high boots slinging over her thigh, as she adjusted her hat. Pulling a book from her satchel, she smirked as she held it up so Brittany could see.

"Thanks so much, Q!" Teasing Quinn was so much fun.

Bending down, Brittany began a thorough inspection of her bike. Although she usually forgot a lot of things, like homework and math, Brittany knew her baby like the back of her hand. She knew the suspensions, the tires, the brakes. The exhaust, the engine, the metal, the leather. She knew what gears to use, and how to do tricks-she almost always got scolded for those, but hey, if the track was too tame, she needed some fun.

She knew riding as well as she knew dancing.

"Britt! You ready?" Brittany turned, Coach having finished her conversation. Due to a horrible slouch and loose-fitting clothes, she couldn't tell if the delivery guy was actually a guy, or otherwise. Any clues she could have gotten was hidden by posture and a cap, pulled low enough to hide the face.

Something prickled in her chest, as the blue collar worker wandered over, to take their own place on the bleachers, behind Quinn. They looked agitated, fiddling with their thumbs, and running their hands over the tops of their knees.

"Hey Coach. Yeah, just final checks. Um, if you don't me asking, who's that?" Thumbing discreetly at her recent conversation partner, Coach caught her gaze and a hint of annoyance flitted across her features. Her feet shuffled, as they turned towards Brittany and settled, squarely. Brittany noticed this, and filed it away in the back of her mind. Senses on alert, Brittany promised herself to keep an eye on her friend as much as she could-Quinn was _just_ in front of the suspicious person.

"No one, just a friend." There was a slight hesitation in her voice, but Brittany brushed it aside to professionalism-her coach probably wasn't comfortable with people knowing anything about her personal life. She certainly hadn't appreciated the people snooping about for interviews and the like.

"Hey, Britt." Brittany looked up, pausing in her scrutiny of a particular screw on Vi. This time, her coach didn't seem very comfortable, her eyes shifty, as she crossed her arms. Brittany's flags went up. Her coach, though excitable, was almost always calm. Currently, though…she seemed almost antsy.

Brittany sensed there was more, and stood still, giving the shorter girl her full attention. Coach's dangling earrings-sparkly as ever-moved as she shook her head, and Brittany watched her as she bit her lip, as though debating something.

"Are you alright? Not…shaken up or anything?"

Oh. She must have been talking about the shooting.

Shaking her head slightly, Brittany began fiddling with the helmet in her hands, worrying the red coat, as she spoke softly. "Nah, I'm alright with it now. A bit in shock yesterday, but I wouldn't have turned up if I wasn't fine."

Coach nodded her head, as she shot a glance at someplace beside Brittany's face, sucking in a breath. "Good, good. Do you…did anyone…what about the shooter? Aren't you scared?"

Brittany shrugged, because what else could she do? "Not really."

Coach pursed her lips, dark eyes steadying and stilling on Brittany's blues. "No?"

"Nah. She was…we kind of had a little…'meeting'."

Tilting her head, Coach waited patiently for an explanation. Brittany pondered for a moment. If she couldn't trust her coach, who else could she trust?

Taking in a breath, Brittany blinked, setting her helmet on the seat of her bike.

"Coach, I don't think…could we keep this to ourselves?"

The brunette wet her lips, her arms falling to her side as she nodded slowly, understanding that something had just shifted in the conversation.

"Don't worry."

A pause. "She came to find me yesterday. She told me she didn't do it."

Coach stilled, somehow intensifying right in front of Brittany's eyes. "She told you?"

"Wrote the words on a piece of paper, yeah."

"And do you believe her?" There was nothing judgemental in her tone, nothing that would discourage Brittany from talking.

"I don't know." And that was the truth. She had been asking the question herself every second of the past few days.

Her coach didn't seem to mind the vague answer; if anything, she looked more impressed with it, like she was happy that Brittany understood that she couldn't be playing around with her trust.

Brittany began wondering though. Why didn't Coach ask her about the shooter? Why was she more concerned with what Brittany had to say about the note than the actual fact that the shooter had come to visit her? Why hadn't her coach asked if she had met the shooter?

Brittany wondered, but knew she couldn't ask. Something was stopping her, and if she was going with her gut, then, she knew that the girl wasn't going to tell anyone. That didn't mean that Brittany should tell her everything.

Suddenly, usually animated hands returned to their normal state, clapping loud and harsh as she stepped away, a tight smile on her face.

"I'm glad you're safe though." Brittany watched the way an emotion she couldn't place tugged at the edges of eyes that suddenly seemed a lot older than sixteen.

"So, I want you to warm up-nothing dangerous just yet, Britt! Get that engine warm in two laps, and then I want you beating your personal best, alright?" Right. Motorcross.

"Tricks?" Brittany would say this every time, because she knew her coach was going for speed, and not style. Still, she couldn't resist, because come on, she wasn't an idiot. She knew how to handle her bike.

And like every single time, her coach would chuckle, shaking her head. "No, speed."

Pretending to pout, Brittany made sure her helmet was put on properly before slinging her leg over the seat. Coach reached over to tug on it a bit, looking impressed and satisfied when she found it secure. "Right then. Let me get out of the way, and then you can take off, alright?"

Nodding, Brittany started her engine, revving it just for the heck of it. Well, that, and she knew Coach would just roll her eyes at it. Brittany chanced one more glance at Quinn, who was watching her over the lip of her book, grinning and returning the fist bump that Brittany was offering her. The figure at the back relaxes, as they cross their arms over their chest.

As soon as she gets the all clear, she's off, and Brittany feels all her worries from the days before lift away completely. Like she was running faster than she ever had before from the images in her mind, and she was finally, finally, creating distance.

She started off slow, taking the chance to reacquaint herself with the track's bumps and turns, as per her habit. She wanted to try new tricks? She needed to check that they were at least a little probable.

The two laps were over quickly, and when she glanced over to the sidelines, where her Coach was standing, she received a thumbs up. Passing the start line, Brittany shifted the gears and really let loose.

She sped across the dirt, spraying it everywhere when she took the turns too fast and hard, leaning down with the bike when she needed to, standing on it when the jumps were taken at a speed that wasn't exactly the safest. The wheels ate up the distance easily, and soon enough, Brittany was back at the line, showering her coach's shoes with small rocks and soil. And maybe a bit of her pants too, but Brittany hoped she could get away with that, as she pulled her bike's rear roughly forward. When she was sure she was stable, Brittany cut the engine, pulling her helmet off.

"So Coach, how'd I do?"

Coach didn't seem to be amused, despite her small smile, brushing off the mud with a nonchalant hand. In her other, she held the stopwatch, and she checked it, sweeping a few locks of hair behind her shoulder.

Her smile stretched to a grin, and she clapped excitedly, holding her arms out for a hug. "Good job, Britt! You shaved five seconds off your time!"

Brittany fist pumped, as pride swelled in her chest. People always wondered how the dumb cheerleader could do something as complicated as motorcross. Well, there they go.

"Alright!" Pulling away from her instructor, Brittany pouted charmingly. "Now can I do tricks?"

Shaking her head slowly, Coach stepped away, holding her hands up. "I was going to challenge you to a race, but hey, if you want to pull stunts…"

Wait, a race? Brittany's heart rate quickened, as excitement filled her. She would get to compete against her teacher? No way was she missing this opportunity!

"No, no, no! I mean, yes! Can I race you?"

Chuckling, Coach pretended to look confused. "But I thought you wanted to do tricks…"

"No! Come on, Coach!"

Laughing, her coach nodded, turning. "Alright, grab a water break while I get back. I need to grab my bike from the garage."

"Sure!" Brittany couldn't wait, her impatience showing. She had never raced against Coach before, and man, did she ever want to. "I'll just head up and talk to Quinn first, alright?"

"Quinn?" Coach stopped, her eyebrow arched slightly. Brittany stood alongside her bike, her helmet tucked into her hip, as she nodded. "Yeah, my best friend. She's up there, reading."

"Where?"

"Right…there. Hey, where'd she go?" Brittany was confused, because her friend wasn't seated, reading. Actually, she wasn't there, at all.

The bleachers were empty.

Something pounded in her gut, her ears. Where was Quinn?

Coach muttered something under her breath. It didn't sound very nice. Brittany instantly went on alert, glancing around. Even her friend's satchel was gone.

"Coach, can I go look for her?"

"You go towards the front, where the booths are. I'll check the garages and porta-johns."

Nodding, Brittany began to run, heading for the front, not giving herself the chance to think about the implications of her coach joining in the hunt too. For some reason, the entire situation screamed danger for both sides.

Brittany's side especially.

Bursting past the sheltered walkway that they had passed through to the training area just before, Brittany scanned the milling crowds. She wasn't one to curse, but the profanity slipped past her lips when she realized that it must have been a break between the races.

"Shit."

Families and spectators were wandering around the sector cordoned off for food and beverages. Hotdogs, beer, chips, pop. Everything that you needed to stave off hunger and cool off in the hot sun.

How was she supposed to find two people around here?

"Quinn? Quinn!" Brittany called, her footfalls light and spirited with determination, as she hoped for a familiar blonde to yell back. People looked at her weirdly, seeing a girl parting the bottleneck with purpose, but they missed out the part that it was charged with fear as well.

Slipping through the crowds, Brittany soon reached the end of the mass, and groaned in frustration, gripping her hair. Where was Quinn?

Tugging out her phone, Brittany pressed for three and called the number allocated for that slot. Holding the phone to her ear, she spun in a circle in the middle of the parking lot on the fringes of the arena, empty, save for the cars. The connecting tone was mocking as it rang, and Brittany refused to let herself give up.

Quinn's car. The other girl wouldn't have left it behind.

As the operator tonelessly reported that the user wasn't available, Brittany sprinted to the spot they had parked at earlier.

Her breath hitched, the feeling of being free a distant memory, when she reached the spot where Quinn's black SUV had been occupying.

Key word being 'had been'. Because it sure as hell was empty now.

* * *

A/N: Anddd it's chapter 3 (or 4 meh). Things are moving along, and you'll see you-know-who real soon! *this update courtesy of the procrastination put into finals*

i'd like to thank the really nice anon that reviewed my story-i'm really glad you liked it! and i really do hope i managed to keep your interest with this update! and to all the people that followed and reviewd and faved, *bows deeply* thank you so much!:D

i'll try to get the next chapter up in 2? 3? weeks *at the moment, trying to wade through 4 more finals, and then i'm going to pee in my pants in wait for 4x04! *not the only one, right?*

love ya all, and please review!:D *and female robbery is a really nice song, just sayin*


	5. Interlude: Quinn 'Goddamn' Fabray

A/N: So, i finally finished with finals. sorry about the delay, but damn, 4x04 really hit hard, and i've been scrabbling. i'm leaving for an overseas exchange program in two days, so i'm going to either make monumental progress on this story, or it's going to take a backseat. rest assured, though this chapter is short, i'm not giving it up. thank you so much for the reviews and follows and favourites, they make my day like nothing else!

also, though i am really bad at using it, i have a tumblr, so drop by for a chat or any questions you have about this story-i always like feedback! (chasing-whatevers-out-there)

Disclaimer: Despite the fact that I wished I did after THAT episode, nope, I still don't own Glee.

* * *

Quinn sweated, chancing lifting a hand to wipe the perspiration on her forehead away.

"Could you please, _please_, keep your hands on the steering wheel?"

The Latina in the passenger seat bit her lip, as she fiddled with the edges of the mustard explosion she called a uniform. She really wished she hadn't had to do it-kidnapping Brittany's best friend wasn't going to win her any points with the girl. But it was the only thing she could think of that wouldn't tip anyone off to…

Quinn returned her limb quickly, warily glancing at the gun sitting innocently on her usually clear dashboard. Honestly, she had no idea how it all happened-one minute she had been quietly reading, lifting her eyes up to shake her head at Brittany on the track, and the next, the muzzle of the Glock was being pushed deliberately into her back.

Sighing, Quinn focused on the road, letting her irritation show. She would have loved to at least have the directions-her kidnapper had just been guiding her as they went along.

"Turn left." Quinn hesitated, wondering if she could get away with turning right at the intersection. As though able to read her thoughts, the tan girl sighed, crossing her arms as her eyebrow arched. "Look, you can go right, but then you're going to waste gas driving in that circle to get to where I want us to be."

"Why are you doing this?" She hadn't reached for her gun yet; that was a good sign. The Latina rolled her eyes, her eyebrows meeting in the middle of her forehead.

"Because it was the only way. Trust me, Barbie, I wouldn't bother with you if I didn't have to." There was an annoyance in her tone, and Quinn decided to see how far she could push it, as she pulled left into a lane that didn't seem to have an end, leading out of Lima. Quinn had never been in this part of town before-it was worse than Lima Heights; it was Lima Heights Adjacent. Living here meant having a shank on you at all times-and she wasn't even stereotyping.

"So…who _are_ you bothering?"

Sharply, dark eyes tore into her with the question, and Quinn had to force herself not to flinch, keeping her eyes steady on the road. She could feel the gaze, and it made her feel like she was two feet tall.

God. The woman was intimidating as hell.

But Quinn refused to let herself cower. She was Quinn goddamn Fabray, and if she was being kidnapped, she wasn't going to come easy.


	6. What You Know

A/N: Firstly, I am amazingly, immensely sorry. Life has just been..wow. For those of you who care, I recently came back from my immersion programme, got back my exam results, put on a showcase, won a playwrighting competition, saw my sister off for her exchanged trip. Also, problems with my family have gotten in the way. The biggest problems I've been facing would be the lack of a personal computer, and NaNoWriMo. Trying to juggle those two with this has just done me in, lately, but like I said, I'm not giving up on this story, because personally, I need it. The things RIB have done to Brittana...not things I want to think about. So this is kinda me trying to not think about it.

Again, I deeply apologise for the lack of updating. I'm an ass, I know.

Concerning this chapter though, I've been so busy writing it, I hope you guys understand it, because there's a lot to digest here. Hopefully, I've done a good job. I don't have a beta (looking for one though, so if any of you want to volunteer to shout at me, PM me! I would deeply appreciate it!), so all mistakes are my own.

Also: About tumblr. I'm really bad at updating there, especially considering my lack of a personal computer, so don't expect much from that (I thought I could maintain that, but no, because technology hates me.) So your best bet for updates is, once again, following and favoriting! Drop me reviews or whatever-I love getting those:D

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but my play is being put to performance locally. Which is nice, actually.

* * *

Small hands shoved hard on Brittany's shoulders, forcing her to sit down on a wooden bench. The dirt bike garage was a familiar sight to the blonde, with its neat rows of spare, training, and owned dirt bikes, a spectrum of colour that would have made Brittany smile any other time. The mismatch of gas cans, dented and used, lay on the tables amongst work tools in their own little cubbies, and benches lined them, cordoning off the workstations that mechanics used to touch up the machines.

"Britt, I need you to sit down." Coach's voice was stern, firm, and so like her during tutoring sessions, that Brittany clung to her words like a life preserver.

Still, it did nothing to calm her nerves, and her knee kept bouncing up and down-harsh, jerky, and in staccato-and the exasperation showed in her displeasured whine.

"How can I do that, Coach? Q's gone, and I don't know where she is!"

Coach blinked, more a squeezing of her facial features than anything else, as she pouted subconsciously. There was a maelstrom of emotions written on her face, but that merely clued Brittany into a state of even worse panic.

Quinn was her best friend. Quinn was the girl that had always been around. Quinn was just…Quinn.

"We can't just jump into things. I mean, maybe she just went home."

"Q would never leave me without saying goodbye or anything. She promised my parents that she'd drive me back, and Quinn takes her promises seriously!"

Brown eyes squinted, and the pink-clad woman huffed as she ceased her pacing and sat down, her own nervousness beginning to show. "Stop. We just have to cover all the bases, B."

"Well, we're not doing a good job of it then! What about that weird delivery person that you were talking to? They were sitting just behind her!"

This got her attention. A slumped back straightened with a jerk, and chocolate burned. "She was?"

Brittany gulped, unused to the sudden solemnity. Coach, despite her matter-of-fact nature, was pretty easy-going, at least to her. It was a bit disconcerting to see the brunette so intense.

Oh well. Her best friend was missing. Was her motorcross coach being weird really high on her list of priorities?

An uncoordinated nod, and her coach's mouth falls open curiously. "That idiot…"

"You know her, right? Did she take her? Did she?"

"Calm down, we don't know!" Coach tried, her own face not providing the same message of relaxation, as she jumped up and began to bounce from one foot to the next, not a moment of stillness as far as Brittany could see.

Brittany thought herself quite calm, considering the circumstances. Still, it unsettled her to see the teen begin to think furiously right in front of her.

"…she thinking…just off Lima…dang it!" The mumbles grew increasingly louder, till Coach slams her hands into the front pockets of her pink tracksuit hoodie. "Ugh!"

Brittany files away the outburst. This was not the time to analyse the girl. "Coach, did she take her?"

"Sugar."

"What?"

"Sugar. My name's Sugar." The brunette inhales and exhales like a balloon, burying her face in her hands. "Since we're in this situation now, it's weird if you call me Coach."

It strikes Brittany then, that she had never known her coach's real name. 'Coach' was enough, and no one had ever called the tough and childlike girl anything but that. It felt strange now, as though by giving her her first name, Coa-Sugar had just torn down the last walls of professionalism.

It felt the same way it did when Brittany had spotted Mrs Hagberg in the aisle of Quick-mart, looking for a bottle of over-the-counter headache pills. Suddenly, Mrs Hagberg wasn't just Mrs Hagberg, history teacher; she was Mrs Francessca Hagberg, the widow who lived on the corner of Brittany's block, her husband having died almost six years prior in a construction accident that left her and her grown children without a husband and father. Suddenly, she was a person.

Just like Sugar was a person.

A kid, actually.

Quietly, Brittany reached out to tap her on the wrist. Setting her gaze on the young girl, Brittany asked with barely a pause, "Who is she?"

"She's the biggest, stupidest, idiot I have ever met." A statement.

Brittany's eyes narrowed. "That's it? That's all I'm gonna get?"

Sugar nods, as she held a hand up. "Let me make a couple of calls. We'll see what happens next."

"Sugar?"

"Hang on, Britt." Her coach walked a few steps away, as she pulled out her bejeweled cellphone, pressing a number and holding it up to her ear. Brittany forced herself to stay put, as told.

That didn't stop her from trying to eavesdrop on Sugar, though.

"…situation…girl's missing, and I think she took…shut up, no one cares about…" Her agitation became even more apparent as she went on. "Listen to me!" She was shouting slightly, and her voice was tinged with anxiety. It was odd for Brittany, who usually associated the girl with her deadpan voice. As if realizing just how loud she was being, Sugar glanced over at Brittany, who looked down, pretending not to have been staring at her just moments before. Pacing further away, the rest of the conversation was lost to her.

Brittany took careful inventory of her facial features though. Sugar's went from nervous, to angry, to stubborn in the span of a minute, as her hands gesticulated wildly, as if to prove a point. Who was she talking to?

Biting her lip, Sugar rolled her eyes once more, before ending the call without even a goodbye. Immediately, she dialed another number, this time looking more worried than before. Brittany cocked her head. Who was it this time?

* * *

_"Ma'am, it seems like she's taken a civilian hostage."_

_"What? Move."_

_"Ma'am, with all due respect, I think we should…"_

_"Stop your flapping. If I wanted to hear from somebody what they thought I should do, I would just go to my mother."_

_"But ma'am, a civilian-"_

_"Are you still here, Tina Turner? Do you see that bucket over there?"_

_"…the one with the dirty mop water, ma'am?"_

_"Yes, dunk your head in it."_

_"…"_

_"Now!"_

_"Right on it, ma'am!"_

_"…now, Lopez. What exactly are you doing here?"_

* * *

"So?" Brittany was bouncing in her seat, eager to get going. She fingered Vi's keys. Sugar looked up from where she had been staring at the dusty floor, her eyes following after her head.

"Huh?"

"Where do we go? Is she in Lima? Do you know? What happens now?"

Sugar nods slowly, her lips puckering up as she stares at Brittany as if she were a piece of glass. Her voice was distant, coming from that space in the head that Brittany decided was where unicorns came from. Also, nightmares.

"I think…you should go home, Britt."

"What?"

"Go home." There was nothing else to be said. Sugar stood, looking down at her older student, who looked as though someone had just told her that the ground she was walking on was actually not solid at all. Like Sugar had somehow turned the world upside down for a moment, and then upright again, in some twisted magic trick to show that, _see? This is reality, and I fooled you once._

"What?"

Breathing slowly, Sugar kicked at the dirt beneath her feet, fixing her gaze.

"Look, Britt. I want to make sure she's safe too, but the people I've called, they can't do anything until tomorrow. My friend…let's just say that she's very unpredictable. She could be anywhere; any town, any Walmart. I'm not saying we're not going to find her," She quickly tacked on, placing her hands carefully on stiff shoulders. "Because we are, Britt. But not tonight. Go home, make sure your parents are…go see your parents. Sleep in your bed. Go to school tomorrow. I'll call you if anything comes up."

Sugar felt the words fall from her mouth the way she had been told to. Inwardly kicking herself, and flinching from the completely betrayed look on the blonde's face, Sugar kept assuring her, kept giving her instructions to cling on to. "Or you could call me. That could work to; I'll even change my ringtone to a Spice Girls' song for you so that I'll pick it up as fast as a rabbit."

Brittany blinked suddenly shiny blue eyes, as she swallowed visibly. Sugar noted the way her hands were fisting by her sides, and slightly increased the grip she had on the girl. "Go home, Britt. I'll…we'll find her. Promise."

Blues sharpened, shockingly so, and Sugar flexed her fingers. "Pinky promise?"

It made complete sense to her, so Sugar held her hand out, her smallest finger extended. "Pinky promise."

As she looked at a suddenly relieved Brittany, Sugar really, really hoped she'd be able to keep this particular promise.

* * *

_"Hey, Santana. When do I bring her to meet you?"_

* * *

When Brittany S. Pierce cruised into the school parking lot alone, on her motorbike, that early Monday morning, students immediately began to talk.

Where was Quinn Fabray? Did the two have a fight? Why was the Head Cheerio so antsy?

"Yo, Britt!" Brittany spun, nearly dropping the hold she had on her dark helmet. Puck started slightly, leaning back to escape getting a faceful of blonde ponytail. Holding his hands up, he whistled low, eyes scanning the vehicle in front of his testosterone-filled self.

"Wow, Pierce. That is one hell of a sexy ride. Not as sexy as you, of course, but wow." He raised an eyebrow as he looked it over.

"Me and my dad built it together from scratch." Brittany replied shortly, tapping her hands on her helmet's Kevlar surface. Her eyes refused to still, as they roamed the lot for _something_.

To be honest, for being the scene of a shoot-out just the week before, the school sure didn't look like it. Sure, the students were a bit more jumpy, and Brittany had heard the Literature and History wings had been closed for investigation, but otherwise, it was just another bleary, dull Monday morning.

Puck was still talking, so Brittany at least tried to pay attention, despite her tired brain yelling at her to ditch the mohawked boy and plop down onto her desk in homeroom to sleep. She definitely hadn't gotten any last night.

Her parents hadn't noticed that she had come back on her bike, without her best friend. They had barely looked up when she went past the living room, where they were enjoying an old rerun of 'Where The Wild Things Are'. Even Ashley didn't notice, since she was already in bed when Brittany returned, all snuggled up under her Little Mermaid blankets.

Brittany had lain on her bed all night, tossing, turning, and all but jumping up and choreographing an entire dance routine fit for a characterization of a tornado.

Her parents _had_ raised an eyebrow when she had asked her dad for the keys to their rarely used motorbike. Brittany covered it up with the excuse that Quinn had wanted to head to the library before school to catch up on some homework, and Brittany wanted to sleep in.

She still wasn't sure how long it would take till Judy decided to check up on her daughter and call Brittany's parents when she couldn't reach her on her cell.

"…and I wanted to talk to Quinn, ya know? See what she thought about-"

"Sorry, Puck, but, no way is Q gonna go out with you again." Brittany could guess where his question was going to end. She wasn't psychic or anything. He was just super predictable.

Scrunching his face up, Puck took a step back. "Whoa, tiger. I never said anything about that. I thought we might maybe like to check out the competition, you know? Dalton's on the other side of town, right next to that dirty-ass neighbourhood. So if we were gonna go and walk around, it would be a lot safer if we went together, just saying."

Well, at least he used to be super-predictable.

Brittany blushed, as she cleared her throat. Her fingers stilling, she berated herself for making a fool out of both of them. "Sorry. Wasn't listening."

"Yeah, you've been really jumpy lately." Brittany gave him a look. "Don't do that eyebrow thing that Quinn always does. It makes me feel like I peed in my bed or something." Laughing at the face the Head Cheerio made, Puck nodded towards the double doors. "So, yeah. Are we gonna go? Where is Q, anyway?"

Brittany's steps faltered. "Good question." She said, walking past him. She couldn't lie to save her life-ok, that was a lie. She totally could. She just didn't know what to tell him.

Feeling Puck look at her weirdly, Brittany tried to change the subject. "Anyway, the trip. You guys go. I'm opting out. I don't think Quinn would be big on that too."

"Alright. We thought we'd get Schuester to lighten up and cancel a rehearsal if we all went, but looks like we're going after it, then." Nodding slightly, Brittany started to dial in her combo, as Puck waved goodbye, continuing down the halls. Tugging the metal door open, she sighed into the safety of the space, wishing she was anywhere else but here. How could anyone be expected to study when their best friend had been kidnapped?

Oh, world, thou art a cruel bitch.

A push on the other side of the door had her looking up, and Sam smiled his dorky smile, as he asked her about the small recon thing they had set up. "You're coming, right?"

"Hey, Sam. Nope." Brittany repeated, wondering if she could call Sugar this early and expect good news. Maybe later-she did say that they would only begin today.

"Really? That's a shame. I thought you would wanna go, you know. Since it's all spy-like and stuff."

"Why?"

Sam shrugged. "Cos it's fun." He went silent for a moment, as he stared at her. "Are you alright? Your eye bags have eye bags." Blinking again, he looked over her shoulder, a confused expression blooming on both their faces. "Sorry, but I was totally expecting Quinn to start coming at me for saying that. Is she sick or late or something?"

For the second time that day, Brittany was at a loss. What could she tell them? Heck, should she?

Sugar had said her friend was unpredictable. Quinn could be just about anywhere, going through some horrible things. If she found out Brittany had been talking about her…

"Britt!"

"Not the chainsaw!" She yelled, shocked and actually jumping, when Sam clapped his hands in front of her face. "What?" She glanced around, lowering her volume as the other blonde rubbed his ears in regret.

"You were doing that weird thing where you were staring right at me. Usually, you'd stare at my mouth and wonder how big a tuna I could fit in there. But you were staring at my face, so…are you ok?"

Deciding that she had embarrassed herself enough that morning, Brittany nodded, _yeah, I'm cool_, as she shut her locker and made to walk to homeroom. Since Sam was a year younger, they didn't share any classes, so Sam had to split with her there. Brittany waved, relieved at being spared anymore awkward questions.

Difficult questions.

* * *

"Q…where are you?" She muttered, sliding her thumb over the screen of her phone for the umpteenth time. School was almost over, and she only had Glee left that day. Cheerios was scheduled for tomorrow, and Brittany exhaled deeply as she told herself she couldn't lose her focus then. Coach Sylvester would have her head on a stick if that happened.

There had been no news from Sugar-could anyone blame her for being anxious?

Forcing herself to breathe in calmly, Brittany looked up just in time to avoid walking into a wall. Sighing, she slumped against it, as the bell rung and the halls emptied.

It took her a while to realize where she was.

Her brow furrowed as she took note of the yellow crime scene tape the police had put up. Straightening, she glanced around. The choir room was along the hall down the other end of the corridor. So this was where it all happened.

Walking along the width of it, Brittany noticed some strategically placed yellow tags, marking evidence just like they did in crime shows. Her gaze jumped from one to the next, taking in five in total.

As she did, she noticed something strange. She repeated the motion, studying the evidence carefully.

The first was half a shoeprint, made visible by the lightest amount of dirt on it. The front was smooth, the sides straight. It was smudged though, and Brittany figured the cops would probably have a hard time trying to locate the owner.

The second were several open locker doors, in succession. They were further down the hall, and Brittany could just make out the small holes the bullets had made as they pierced the metal sheets.

_They must've been the gunshots I heard._

Number 3 were a bunch of holes in the opposite walls, a jagged line of possible pain and missed chances. Brittany counted four holes. That matched the number of shots she had heard last week.

The fourth evidence tag had been attached to a latch on the windows, closer to where she was standing, at the head of the corridor. It looked broken, Brittany deduced, seeing the way it hung, pointed to the ground.

_That must've been an escape or entry route._

The last one was another locker door, this time dented. It looked as if someone had slammed into it. It was just before the number 2s, and Brittany saw why the police had tagged it-there was a piece of cloth still stuck in one of the grills. Wondering why they hadn't bagged it, Brittany tried to get a closer look.

"Hey, you can't be here!" A loud yell had Brittany jumping, moving away from where she had been pressing lightly against the tape.

Holding her hands up, Brittany plastered on her best smile. "Hey, officer. I didn't see you there."

The uniformed guard made a face, as he cradled his coffee cup closer to his side, the other hand resting on his nightstick, as though waiting for her to give him a reason to use it. "I take a short break for coffee, and come back to find some kid trying to trespass a crime scene." He snorted, moving to a chair Brittany hadn't noticed before, tucked into an alcove.

Sensing an opportunity for information, Brittany glanced back at the crime scene, as she lowered her arms. "Sorry, I was just…it's interesting, you know?"

"Yeah, it sure is! I spend years on the force, and the worst thing that we have to contend with are hoodlums like you, drunk at 4am on Saturdays. And then suddenly, bam! Shootings in schools. I'm telling you, we're not paid enough to do jobs like these." Another derisive snort. "I'm definitely not paid to be some babysitter at a crime scene, that's for sure."

"So, why are you here? Shouldn't you guys be, like, excited, going through the evidence and whatever?"

The guard rolled his eyes, as he sipped from his drink with a disgusted face. "Yeah, we are. Some of the boys have been begging Trellini for days. But we can't even begin to process it, because the brass got orders from some higher-ups to freeze the crime scene. Which means," he continued on, his eyes drifting to just over Brittany's shoulder. "We have orders to not touch it."

That would explain why the cloth was still there and everything. Brittany bit her lower lip, as she tried to figure out another way to bring the conversation to the things she had seen in the hall. Before she could though, the officer began talking again.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you these things. But I'm seriously considering just diving into things myself. I hate that the Feds are getting into local business; don't they get that small towns can take care of themselves?"

Brittany nodded along, looking sympathetic. Maybe she didn't even need to try…

He was still ranting, looking as though he had been keeping all of the frustration inside himself for far too long. "…always sticking their noses where they don't belong!"

"Why are they even here, right?" She tried, prompting him.

"Yeah! I mean, sure, it's strange, but don't they have anything else to look into? Freezing a crime scene, stepping on our feet to get to the witness statements…I'll tell you though, we cheated." The officer had a glint in his eye, excitement and cunning. "We did as much as we could. It's pretty much an open-and-shut case!" Brittany was intrigued. She titled her head.

"See, there was a Latina-we got that from eyewitnesses-and she probably blended in with the student population. She walks down this very corridor, where we have another witness, who was hiding with a teacher in that classroom," he pointed to Room 401, down the hall Brittany had come from, "saying she started to pull out her gun. From the very spot you're standing at, she shot at the locker doors, those ones there," his finger moves to the yellow tags with a large number 2, "to clear out the students, and then moved to the choir room there, leaving behind a shoe print." Evidence number 1.

"What then?" She asks, though she had an idea.

He moves on, relishing the audience. "Well, some kids in the room say that she tried to open the door, and there was a struggle, so we assume she was trying to get to someone here. Probably heard the police sirens, and took off." He leant back in his chair, taking a long drag from his cup. Brittany tried to process what she had been told.

Some things didn't add up.

"So how do you know the shots came from here?"

His gaze narrowed at her, and leant forward again. "You're awful curious, aren't you?" Regarding her again, he moved back, settling himself on his seat. "The hole definitely showed the bullet entering from this direction. We also found them lodged in the walls opposite, and some on the floor. Don't tell the Feds, but we took those."

In the back of her mind, Brittany kind of understood why the FBI or whatever would think to step in-the Lima police were so loose-lipped, they'd probably spill everything to the very person they were supposed to catch.

"What about the window?"

"What about it?"

"Like, isn't the lock broken?"

"Well, yeah. But we checked it out with your principal. Said it was always broken." Now that Brittany thought about it, he could've been right. Students were always looking for ways to ditch classes. She could have easily broken a lock to use as a foothold to climb outside if she was ditching with Quinn.

"The cloth?"

"Probably from a random student. But could have been from the shooter. Who knows?"

Her nose scrunching up, Brittany blinked at the suddenly apathetic man. "What do you mean, 'who knows'? Isn't it like, super important or something? I thought everything mattered?"

Staring at her as he finished off his drink, the guard stood up. "Look, kid. I don't need you telling me how to do the very job I've been doing for almost half my life. Maybe it was the shooter. Sometimes though, things aren't all connected the way you think they are. It probably got dented when a student slammed into it trying to get away. Got their clothes stuck, and then what? We're supposed to track down every kid that was wearing a navy blue cloth shirt and question them for details about the shooter?" He paced forward, crumpling the paper cup in his fist.

"Would be helpful, sure. But it would take people and time we don't have. And it's not like you kids would be really helpful, anyway. You don't even remember homework; you expect something like that to last in your brain over the weekend? From my experience, kid, anyone in a stressful situation like this," he waved a hand carelessly behind her, "usually hasn't the slightest idea what they were doing then."

"Too much information trying to register itself into their head, stuck in a traumatic environment, too much adrenaline and fear. People would rather forget it as soon as they could. We couldn't even find a key witness; some people said they saw a girl touching some contaminated evidence on the choir room door." His dark eyes seemed tired, and Brittany figured she could maybe sympathise with his hopelessness. She hadn't even been in the hallway when the shooting happened-and yet, she could remember the fear that had filled her, had driven her.

Sighing, the officer tossed the crushed cup into a trashcan, hiking up his pants as he did so. Turning back to her, he gave her a small smile, which Brittany caught as she looked up from her shoes. "Sorry, kid. But we're trying our best. We'll find her, and we'll make sure you guys are safe. Now, run along. Don't you have classes?"

Brittany nodded, thanking the officer as she edged past to take an alternate route to the choir room. She had a lot to think about now-on top of worrying about her best friend, Brittany had just found out how little the police actually knew. Had they completely disregarded her statement? She had clearly told them every moment she remembered, hadn't she? How there was another gunshot, when her girl hadn't pulled the trigger herself?

And yet, the officer began to make her doubt herself. Maybe she hadn't? Maybe she had forgotten that detail? She definitely had forgotten to tell them that she had been the one to wipe the lipstick away.

Her heart thudded.

She had forgotten. She had only realised the possibility of another person _after_ the entire thing was over, when she had been in her room with Quinn.

Which meant that the police were looking for the wrong person.

Which meant that her girl was telling the truth-the evidence clearly said so. There had been no bullet holes in the hall she had just been in-which clearly meant there had been someone else shooting at the Latina from there when she had been struggling with Brittany. The navy cloth couldn't have come from the mysterious girl; she had been wearing a leather jacket that Brittany now remembered had been zipped up-halfway, to be precise. The other shooter could have used the window to enter the school, bypassing Finn and Mr Schuester-because who else could the officer have been talking about, hiding in that classroom?

Which meant that, ultimately, her girl was the good guy-well, girl-in this instance.

Brittany had been right all along. Or at least, her gut had been.

She had to tell the police everything she knew. Whirling around, she saw the guard sitting down again at his post, settling against the little half-square the corner makes, with his arms crossed against his chest. He looked about ready to doze off.

She halts. If she told them…

Brittany had seen enough fugitive movies to know that was never a good thing. The police were still looking for her, even if they didn't know it-she was the Lipstick Smudger. If she told them everything…

Her girl was as good as caught. They could use Brittany for bait. Her girl definitely cared about Brittany, somewhat-the blonde found her hand drifting to her pocket, where she knew the scrap of paper the Latina had left for her sat.

Brittany could never do that to her.

Slowly, she began to walk again, turning around. Her thoughts were full of tan skin and dark eyes, blonde hair and her best friend, even as her feet brought her to Glee. Why was she even bothering, though? The period was almost over, and she was sure rehearsals were going to be a pain.

Her steps changed, and brought her to the parking lot. Before she knew what she was doing, Brittany was on her bike, revving up to head to the motorcross track.

Maybe Sugar would know what to do.

* * *

Brittany gaped at the note she had been left.

_Britt, _

_Don't freak out. I can totally see you doing that. Calm down, don't go looking for me. I'll call you. Or you could call me, like I said. I'm going to meet up with my friends-they might have something for me. In the meantime, sit down, and don't worry too much. When we find Quinn, you'll need your energy._

_Sugar_

Pulling her phone out, Brittany began to dial the number she knew by heart-a number she had memorized after the very first lesson, where she got to watch her instructor pull a backflip after a jump.

The dial tone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

It picked up. Brittany opened her mouth, ready to speak, when a pre-recorded message filtered through the speaker.

"_This number is no longer in use_."

* * *

The mechanics in the garage all flinched when Brittany drove her bike through to the track, tossing up dirt and stones in her rush.

"That girl's going to ruin her tires." One of them told another, shaking their heads as they watched her peel down the strip.

* * *

"Brittany, you seem angry. Are you ok, honey?" Susan asked the silent blonde at the dinner table, reaching across her to place a plate of chicken. The worried mother had noticed her daughter's sullen mood-she had come into the house with a fury, racing upstairs to her room and shutting the door as the older woman had been preparing dinner. Now she sat, tearing an unsuspecting piece of tomato to shreds.

Ashley stared at her sister, trying to figure out what was wrong. Brittany had been happy yesterday, when she left for motorcross, but this morning she had been in a rush, running through the kitchen to get her keys from daddy, and then to the garage. She hadn't even given Ashley a kiss on the forehead, the way she normally would've.

John was equally as worried. He just hadn't been brave enough to ask. He figured it maybe had something to do with the shootings, and hadn't wanted to fiddle with that particular can of worms unless Brittany was open to it.

The teen in question didn't seem to be. She sighed, as she speared a gooey piece of tomato and brought it to her mouth, chewing slowly. Her blue eyes, usually so alive, were dull, as though with her sigh, all the energy from whatever had her so annoyed had exhaled itself along with the air.

"Sure, mom."

Susan finished her mouthful, crossing her ankles underneath the table. "Really, Britt? Because that poor tomato sure didn't deserve that kind of ending." Pointing with the tines of her fork, Susan watched as Brittany deflated even further with another sigh. "Come on, honey. Talk to us."

Lifting her gaze, Brittany made a face. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It's obviously bothering you, Britt." Her dad, this time, and Brittany felt tight, trapped. Reminding herself that they were just asking because they cared, she tried not to snap. "I'm telling you. I'm fine."

"Your cuts are telling me otherwise. Where were you? Because I did get a call from Mr Schue telling me that you weren't at Glee today."

"Daddy, stop it. I went to the track today. That's all."

"Why?" Her mom, this time. Brittany wanted to snort.

_Well, mom and dad, Quinn got kidnapped; some girl I might possibly be in extreme _like_ with is being hunted down by the cops; my motorcross teacher apparently has 'connections' with the kidnapper; I've been left alone with no way of contacting either of them for help; and oh yeah, in case we forget, my birthday's this Sunday! _

She totally understood what Katy Perry meant now-if she was a plastic bag, she would totally be considered drifting through the wind.

Maybe even viciously tossed through it.

They didn't deserve it though. Her family was just trying to help; they didn't know what was happening.

Setting her fork down (she was afraid she would throw it at something), Brittany took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. It wouldn't do anyone any good if she lost her temper.

"Sorry." She breathed out. "I just…couldn't be in school, you know? They were in the choir room, and I just couldn't…after last week…" She shook her head, as she tried to articulate to them what she meant. Maybe they would let it slide. It certainly sounded believable.

Her dad's face relaxed, as though he had been hoping that that was the reason.

Now that John knew it was about the shootings, he had something to work with. He could actually help, instead of just feeling like he was trying to win a high score on Minesweeper. Resuming his meal, he stared across the table at his eldest.

"Was it hard?"

Brittany shrugged. "A little."

"Do you maybe want to tell us what happened? Because we still don't know what you told the police, honey."

Brittany sucked her lips into mouth, as she leant back in her chair. "I guess." It wouldn't hurt to tell them that much, would it? Maybe it would help.

"We were in the choir room. I was showing them the choreography for our assignment, and then people were rushing outside. So Mr Schue and Finn went to check, and we stayed behind. We heard three gunshots, one after another, and then we tried to hide ourselves. I grabbed Quinn…" Brittany faltered for a moment. "-and then we hid in a corner. Someone came to the door, someone our age." She saw her girl, holding a gun. "And I tried to open it for her, but she kept me inside. She was holding a gun. So I freaked out a bit." She saw the way her family's eyes widened. "No, no, wait. She held the door closed for me. She wouldn't let me go out. That was when the last gunshot sounded."

"Someone else was there?"

"Yeah, mom." Brittany felt the truth slipping out before she could stop it. She hadn't meant to tell them that. "Anyway, she heard it, and ran. And then the police came, and everyone else got evacuated." She hurried, leaving out the lipstick part. They didn't need to know that!

"Who was she?"

"Huh?" Brittany glanced across the table to her sister, whose face was scrunched up in confusion. Rolling her eyes, Ashley rephrased her question. "Who was the girl with the gun?"

Deciding she might as well tell them, Brittany gnawed on her lower lip worriedly. "I don't know. The police think she's the shooter…"

"She could be."

"John, she kept her inside the room."

"Suze, you can't deny the fact that she had a gun! Maybe she started it, and the other person was the one trying to stop her-"

"Maybe they were, but no one just brings a gun to school like that, John. Britt doesn't know her, she couldn't be a student-"

"She could be, and Britt could have just not recognized her-"

"Stop!" Brittany called, her eyes wide with her parents back-and-forth. Where was the conversation going? "Why are you guys even arguing about this?"

"Britt, did you tell the police all of this? You and your friends could be in danger, she could still be going to school with you-"

"Dad, stop. I'm telling you, she doesn't go to WMHS. I don't know her, but I know that much." Why did she ever think telling them would help? It just made things worse.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we kinda already met before." Oh, her lips were just as loose as that police officer's, weren't they?

"Where?" Her mom prodded. Feeling like she was in the Spanish Invasion or something like that, Brittany shrugged uneasily. "She kinda gave me Charity."

"Charity used to have an owner that owns a gun? Cool!" Ashley exclaims, turning in her chair to look at the calico in the corner of the dining room, who lifted her head from her paws at the mention of her name.

"Honey, not now." Susan chided, as she turned back to Brittany. "The girl gave you Charity?"

"Long story. But yeah. So." Brittany shrugged, at a loss for what to say. Glancing nervously at the faces around the table, she wondered what was going to happen next. Her mom looked curious, her dad, slightly alarmed that his child knew someone who owned a gun. Ashley was still in awe over the new factoid about their cat, and was trying to coax the feline over.

"Britt, why do we not know about this?" Brittany sighed, remembering another person asking her that same question about the exact same person just two days ago. A person that she was insanely worried about.

Getting up from her seat, Brittany pushed her plate away, suddenly feeling exhausted. "You never asked. And it was never important before. Is it alright if I go upstairs? I need to do some homework for Mrs Hagberg. And Lord T needs to be fed his meds. I don't want him to OD on his pills."

Susan felt their daughter retreating from them, curling away. They had the answers to one question. They weren't going to get a second one out of her.

Nodding in the face of defeat for this particular battle, she let the unusually quiet girl leave. Picking up her fork once more, she saw her youngest staring at her. "Ashley, finish your dinner, and then go do your homework, alright?"

"Yes, mom." The little girl popped pieces of chicken into her mouth.

"Dear…" Her husband was trying to catch her gaze.

"I know, John." She matched his worry with her own. "I know. But we can't do anything until she lets us."

"Do we tell the cops about the second person?"

"Hell no. They're incompetent. I heard from a friend that the FBI stepped in last week. Maybe they would be able to do something. If they need anything, they'll find us."

"But this mysterious girl…"

"Is someone Brittany trusts. We have to have faith in our daughter, John." Reaching across to smooth Ashley's hair with a smile, Susan felt her motherly instincts calm down.

"Trust in Brittany. She can solve her problems on her own."

* * *

Brittany had no idea how to deal with everything. If she had to wait one more day, she was sure she was going to kill someone. Or worse, ride her bike around town to the post office and ask for the delivery girl. That was a surefire way to get her best friend killed.

But it had been exactly six days since Quinn had gone missing. A full five days without anything from Sugar, and nights spent wondering.

Brittany felt like she was at a stalemate though, like she was playing a dangerous game of chess with someone else, where her girl, Quinn, her family, school, Cheerios, Glee-they were all pieces to be moved around. Trying to juggle everything at the same time, trying to find something close to normal; she was still waiting for her opponent to make their move.

Friday had come, whistling a merry tune with the accompaniment of a light breeze and warm sun. Brittany wanted to find Friday, and punch it in the face. It was not a nice day out, despite what everyone was saying.

Her parents were tiptoeing around her, and while Brittany appreciated them considering her feelings, she wished they would stop hovering. Sure, she was tired, like, all the time, and wasn't talking much, and was riding to school by herself; it didn't mean that she was headed to drugs-she was pretty sure that was where her parents thought that was where she was going to.

(She decided not to tell them that Lord Tubbington would probably need to check-in at rehab again.)

They hadn't even braved asking about Quinn. Brittany was glad for that, though. She was already lying to everybody else-she didn't want to add her family to that list.

Which was another thing. Everybody in Glee wouldn't stop asking her about Quinn. Everywhere she went, people would try to slip something about her best friend, in the hopes that Brittany would crack and tell them. To be honest, Brittany wondered why she didn't just tell them that the other blonde was sick.

Oh, right. They had called _and visited_ the Fabray house.

Brittany remembered the conversation she had with Mike yesterday, during a study period together.

* * *

"Hey, B. I know you've probably been asked like, a gazillion times." She looked up from where she had been doodling dark eyes in the margin of her essay. Mike was twirling his pen around, a nervous habit Brittany recognized he did often. The Asian glanced up at her, his fingers tapping out a beat. "But what's up with Quinn? Is she sick?"

Brittany sighed, dropping her head down onto the table with a dull thunk. The librarian shushed her, as she walked past, toting a cart of books. Pouting, Brittany rolled her head, wishing the headache that had been marching across her brain would stop.

"Yeah. Since the weekend."

"Right. Right." Mike nodded, hearing the same reason Brittany had been giving everyone else. "But, you know." He dropped his voice into a whisper, spotting the old coot behind the shelves glare at them again.

"I told my mom about it, and she made me a soup of panda hair; to take to Q, you know? Thankfully, I got her to not make me pass along some ginger cubes and elephant uterus, but that's not the point." Brittany's eyes widened with alarm-people actually ate those things?

Mike was continuing on, his tapping increasing in tempo. "See, I went to her house, and rung the doorbell. But no one was home. I even went around the back and tossed a few stones at Quinn's bedroom-no go. So I called her landline, and the machine picked up." He was looking past her shoulder now, lost in his memories. "I told her to call me back when she could, and that I hoped she would get better soon." His lips pressed into a thin line, Mike stared at Brittany. "She never did. She didn't reply to any of our voicemails either, and my mom said Judy never turned up for the PA meeting on Tuesday."

Brittany sat up straighter at the new information, holding back the hiss of pain with the action. Her brain seriously needed some quality sleep, especially with all the Cheerios practices and Glee rehearsals. Exams were coming up too, and she had no idea how much longer she could go on like this.

She had no idea that Judy wasn't in town. It would explain, though, why there hadn't been any frantic calls from her, asking about her daughter. Or did the kidnapper take her too?

She wished Quinn was with her. Her best friend could help her figure things out.

"I don't know, Mike. Maybe they went on a holiday?"

"Well, that's why I'm asking you. I knew the Glee club asking her for a straight answer would be a long-shot; she hates half of us. But I figured you would know." Mike was worried, to be honest. He had noticed the normally happy Head Cheerio looking like a soggy piece of cereal lately. She would fall asleep in classes, but would always wake up with a jerk, like she had been dreaming or something. She always looked tired too. Her dancing was becoming sloppier with the day, and he swore he saw her having a staring contest with a water fountain the day before.

"I don't know, Mike." The way she said it, Mike figured that she did. But hey, who was he to push when Brittany didn't want to tell him something? It wasn't his place, certainly.

"Alright, alright. I was just asking. It's fine. More importantly, how are you? You look tired. Are you alright, you know, after last week?" The investigations still weren't going anywhere, Mike had heard. Someone had finally come in to process the crime scene-a pair had walked past his bio lab dressed in the dark uniforms, with the caps pulled low over their faces. Of course, when he came back out, the guard on duty was snoozing. Way to be on task.

Brittany managed a smile for her friend. "Why, are you worried?"

"Well, yeah, Britt. You're lucky my mom hasn't seen you. She'll make you eat some weird stuff to help you sleep." He shuddered just thinking about it.

Making a face, Brittany managed a light chuckle. "Thanks, but no thanks. I like never having my stomach pumped, thank you."

* * *

Coach Sylvester yelled at her to jump higher, and Brittany found some strength in her leaden calves to do what she was told. The Cheerio's coach insulted her movement, and Brittany just repeated it again, but better.

If nothing else, Brittany didn't want to mess up and lose her spot on the team. She was kind of glad that Quinn had quit after she had Beth-the other blonde would have probably have gone head-to-head with Coach Sylvester, in her post-pregnancy depression.

As she dropped into a split to end the routine, she plastered a very fake smile on her face. She was more than ready to go onto YouTube and find some DIY sleeping pills (maybe she would break her no-stomach-pumping record), just to not have to think about anything anymore.

"You girls disgust me, you sacks of fat and silicon boobs. Get up, wash up, and walk your hormones away, because you all obviously think that having a life is more important than improving your routines. When you're ready to remember how much more essential the Cheerios are to your life, then drag your sorry asses back to practice. Which reminds me. Tomorrow, at five. You girls will be running my own version of Heartbreak Hill. Don't look at me that way; you'll at least have a sunrise to remind you how you're slaving away under me."

Ah, classic Coach Sylvester. Brittany flopped onto her back to catch her breath, as her teammates all jogged past to the showers, eager to leave. She was going to join them as soon as she could breathe in without feeling like she was going to choke on air.

"Pierce!" The feedback from the loudspeaker crackled slightly. "You're sub-par today. That is immensely disappointing to me." Brittany looked up into the mouth of said loudspeaker, and to the person using it, just above her. "Your stamina was lacking today, as well. Care to explain why?"

Swallowing, Brittany squeezed her eyes shut, as she scrunched up her face in discomfort. "Sorry, coach. It's just been a…rough week."

"Rough, tough. I once hiked across South America on my period, with nothing more than a monkey carcass I had picked up on the road, and my passport. That was tough, especially after the monkey's relatives found him in my backpack and decided to steal my shoes."

She wondered how much of that was true. Knowing Coach Sylvester, probably all of it.

"Yes, coach. I promise I'll do well next rehearsal."

"Yes, you will. Especially since I am declaring you off-practice till further notice." What? "You heard me, Blondie. You are to rest up, you hear me? If your performance proves lackluster the next time I call you in, you will be off the squad."

"I might be Sue Sylvester, and as much as I wish I could swap your sorry butt for that dancing llama I saw on YouTube, you're one of, if not the best dancer amongst this whining cesspool of estrogen, and a shaggy mammal just won't cut it. I do have some common sense swimming around in the old cerebrum, enough to know that you will be a lot more useful with some sleep. Make sure that happens."

Brittany blinked, as her coach walked away, yelling at Becky for her coffee order. What the hell just happened? She wasn't kicked off the squad, right?

Did Coach Sylvester just show some humanity in her?

The thought alone made her shiver in horror. She picked herself up off the grass, headed towards the showers. She just wanted to get home and do what she had been ordered to do-sleep.

Finishing her washing-up in record time, Brittany slung her duffel over her shoulder, as she headed out one of the side doors of the building. Checking her phone once more for any possible messages from Sugar (which was highly unlikely, but her only chance at the moment), she tapped on her screen with heavy fingers, as she made her way to her bike.

Tapping on her key fob, Brittany's eyebrows furrowed, as she the sound that followed wasn't the disengaging of the locks of her motorbike.

Rather, it was their engagement. Looking up, Brittany stopped short.

There, leaning against her bike, looking for all the world like she belonged there, was her girl.


	7. Shit

A/N: Yay, updates! Thank you so much,everyone, for reviewing! It meant a lot to me! Also, for following and favoriting :D I have the next chapter written out already, but I still need to proofread and look it over, since I'm not sure it makes sense at the moment. But expect it sometime this weekend!

So far, this is my favourite chapter. You'll see why. :D Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Glee or any of it's characters. Yet, anyway. (A girl can dream.)

* * *

"Put the gun down."

"Really, Polly Pocket? Surprisingly, I am strongly against that idea."

"You know, if you talked more and pointed that thing at me less, I think we could get along better."

"And lose my only option for what to give up for Lent?"

"You're Christian?"

"Not really. But it was fun to see you get all hopeful, thinking you could maybe sway me with god."

"So you don't believe in Him?"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Could you keep your eyes on where you're walking? I really don't want to have to bend down and help you up. You sure as hell aren't gonna accept it."

"Maybe if I didn't have a deadly piece of metal pointing me in the back."

"Do you want me to switch it for a knife?"

"And how is that any better?"

"Exactly my point. See, a gun, I would have to pull the trigger to hurt you. A knife would go straight through your back if you don't_ focus on walking carefully_."

"I got it, I got it. Thanks for your consideration."

* * *

"This is…surprising."

"You think I was going to keep you in a dingy basement? You've been watching too many cop shows, Barbie."

"I do have a name, you know."

"I'm not really that bothered to learn it."

"Why am I here? You obviously don't need the money."

"Because I need you."

"You don't sound very happy about it."

"I'm sorry, was it that obvious?"

"You're so incredibly rude."

"And you're so politely rude. That's worse. At least, when I insult someone, they know I'm insulting them. You? You'll leave a bad taste in their mouth."

"…shut it, bitch."

"Taking my advice already? Then I'll advise you to head to your room. Come on, I'll show you."

"Your gun's poking me."

* * *

"What do you want from me, damn it!"

"Whoa, calm down. Calm-stop throwing yourself at the door! Quinn, stop it!"

"Oh, so now you're using my name? Bite me, witch!"

"You just laughed really crazily. And was the name-calling really called for?"

"Stop being so calm, and let me out! I know you're leaning on the door!"

"If you would just _calm the fuck down_!"

"I don't even know why you want me! You obviously don't need the money-this basement is huge! It's like a house of its own!"

"Holy sweet hell, do you always never listen to instructions like this, Barbie? Sit that bony ass of yours back on the bed, you whale, before I come in!"

"Oh, you're one to talk, Miss 'I Didn't Really Want To Bother With You'!"

"Quinn, settle down! We can talk, if that's what you want to do!"

"So now _you're_ giving in to _my_ demands? What sort of kidnapper _are_ you?"

"…are you calmer now?"

"Fuck you."

* * *

"Hey, um. Quinn? I'm leaving breakfast in front of the door. You don't have to, um, come out or anything. But you can get it. I won't be here. I'll be…up front. On the couch. If you…if you want, you could come out and eat with me."

"…"

"It's still there. If you want it."

* * *

"Quinn?"

"…"

"Quinn, seriously. You've been in there since yesterday."

"Who brought me in here in the first place?"

"There's that snark."

"Don't patronize me."

"Could you at least unlock the door? I have food."

"Is it poisoned? Just like the other two probably were?"

"…look. I know you're probably angry, pissed. Scared."

"I'm not scared of you."

"But you are of my gun. If it makes you feel any better, I left it out front. I promise. You don't have to believe me though."

"What do you want."

"Um…I guess…you didn't eat anything yesterday. So I figured you must be really hungry. So I made you something. Nothing too big, cos you'll get a stomachache if you eat a really heavy meal on a full stomach."

"Why do you even care?"

"Don't get mad. Or, ok. Get mad. Get screaming. Sure. Just try not to break down the door. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Why?"

"Because…I just…look. I just really need you to, if not like, at least tolerate me."

"…"

"You probably hate me. Sure. I get that. I'd hate me too. But…Jesus, I suck at this."

"Don't take His name in vain."

"Calm down, Barbie. Sorry. I just…will you at least eat? And then I'll explain things to you."

"Like hell you will."

"Can we stop with the whole snipping thing? I'm trying to be serious here."

"So am I. You have no idea, do you? What you've done to me? My mother, Britt's mom, her dad, Ashley, Britt, my friends-well, Britt. They're all going to be worried. And it'll be on you."

"I don't know who certain people are, but your mom won't be."

"What? Why? Oh my god, did you take her too? Where is she! I swear, if you hurt her, I will-"

"Barbie, will you let me-ouch, fuck! Did you just kick my door?"

"Where is she! Where is she, bitch!"

"Hawaii! Oh my god, she's in Hawaii!"

"What?"

"Thank god! If you had kicked it one more time, I swear to damn god-I mean, I swear, I would have done it myself. There is a handle on this door, and you would know about that, seeing as how you've locked yourself in!"

"Hawaii?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. That was another thing. Hawaii. I sent her there."

"…You couldn't even keep her in the state? What the fuck, you crazy bitch! I don't know who you are, but you better get her the fuck back from whatever seedy place you've sold her to!"

"Holy-Barbie, hey, ouch! Stop-ow! Quit-hey! Don't make me hurt you!"

"Let go of me!"

"Calm down, and let me explain! I can-hey, don't walk away from me!"

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"Don't you dare shut that door, Barbie! I'm warning you-fuck."

"I hate you!"

"What are you, five?"

"…"

"…I cannot believe I sprung for first class tickets."

* * *

"Hey, you're out-oh, fuck."

"Shut up."

"Quinn, put the gun down."

"I want to know about my mother. Why you brought me here. What do you want from me?"

"I'm not going to talk if you're pointing a gun at me."

"You know, for a kidnapper, you're really lousy. You don't blindfold me, you put me in a door that locks from the _inside_, you cook me food, you leave your gun unattended."

"That's because I'm not a kidnapper. Well, not in the sense that you think."

"Keep your hands up. And stand up. Walk away from the table."

"Quinn, trust me. You're just confused. _Put the gun down_."

"Stop telling me what to do! Just stop!"

"Quinn…"

"Stop it!"

"Your mom's safe. She's in a five star resort by the beach, probably enjoying the spa package I paid for, accompanied by two bodyguards at all times."

"I don't believe you. You took me in broad daylight. She could be dead!"

"You know you don't believe that. You know I wouldn't lie about that."

"I don't know anything about you! I don't even know your name!"

"…if I told you I could prove to you that she's alive and well, would you put the gun down?"

"I said, don't tell me what to do!"

"I promise you, Quinn, that if you put it down-"

"Don't take another step!"

"Quinn…"

"Don't!"

"I promise you can talk to…"

"Stop!"

A gunshot.

* * *

"Shit! Oh, _madre_. _Hijo de puta_. Blondie, are you-ow, fuck. Just. Ow."

"…"

"Will you put that thing down? I'm bleeding, and you have no idea what you're doing, so _drop it_!"

"I'm sorry. Oh my god, I just shot you."

"No shit, Barbie. God, I've been shot at before, but never have I wished harder that someone's never held a gun before."

"What?"

"Damn it, I…god, will you get me my laptop and phone?"

"But you're bleeding!"

"I know that! But I need you to calm down and trust me, before I ask you to come over and help me! Forgive me if I sound selfish, but I do not want the same idiot that just _shot me_ to come over and possibly give me a surgery to get the bullet out, if I wasn't sure that said idiot wouldn't try to slice my neck wide open while she was at it!"

"God, stop screaming. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-I mean, I was just-my mom, you have her, and I just-"

"Do I look like a goddamned confessional to you?"

"That's Catholic."

"Does that even matter at the moment? Now calm down and get me a towel from the drawer over there. By the stove."

"Which one?"

"The one that absorbs liquids, maybe, because I really need to keep the blood _in_ me at the moment."

"I really am sorry. God, it was just lying there, and I swear, I just wanted to ask you questions, and I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry-"

"Blondie, hush. For just one minute. Thanks. For the towel. Now, this quiet you're hearing? Keep it that way. I need to make one call. I swear. Just one, and I might put it on speaker so you can hear. And hopefully, if the idiot I'm calling isn't asleep or something, you'll get to talk to your mom."

"I don't…I'm sorry-"

"Quinn!"

"I'm sorry! I mean…I'll shut up now."

"God. Thank you, Jesus. The girl has stopped. Now hang on."

"…"

"Hey. Is she awake? Of course I'm talking about Judy, gosh. I did not call you, Manhands, because I wanted to talk to you…Oh flap your mouth to someone who really cares. Maybe to the Pillsbury Fatboy you're dating. Oh, and thanks for that, by the way. That idiot spoke to the press, and gave his statement to the police, and now everyone with eyes is looking out for me…Hobbit, I don't care. Now pass the phone to Ms Fabray for me, will you? Thanks."

"My mom?"

"Hey, Ms Fabray. How are you? Good, that's great. Look, I have Quinn with me. She really wants to talk to you, is that ok?"

"Mom?"

"Yeah, sure. Just log onto Skype and have Frodo-I mean, Rachel-make sure the scrambler is working. Sure. Of course. Oh, you should definitely hit up one of the clubs there. If you want. Ask for a shot. They're amazing. Yeah. Of course. I'll make sure Quinn's safe. Don't worry about it, alright? Sure, talk to you soon, Ms Fab-Judy. Bye."

"Rachel? Mom?"

"Wipe that confused look off your face, Barbie. You remind me of the Incredible Oaf and his apparent constant need to poop. Here, grab my laptop, open up Skype, talk to your mom. Say anything you want. Don't mention anything about Brittany though."

"The Incredible Oaf? Brittany? Why not?"

"Just don't. Look, while you do that, can I trust you not to go all Silence of the Lambs on me while I try to clean up? Thank god for you, that it's a through-and-through."

"What?"

"Don't touch the gun. Or do I have to bring it along with me this time, too?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Yes. I…I'm sorry. Again. About shooting you."

"Not exactly your best moment, but I get it. I should've handled this all a lot better."

"I just…I can't…my family, you know?"

"…yeah."

"Are you ok?"

"Besides the gaping holes? Go check if your mom's online, Barbie. Make sure she's safe. Afterwards, if you still want it, I'll explain everything. Why you're here. What I need. If you want to, that is."

"Thank you."

"Whatever. By the way? I'm Santana."


	8. Her Girl

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and follows and favourites, guys! *They're totally my happy juice!* Hopefully, this chapter is great, and totally wasn't 'saw that one coming, huh." I have no idea what I'm doing, but you guys help with that by reviewing, soooo. Review on!

Also: Quinn Fabray is back, and she is going to murder everyone. I swear to god, she came back just to murder everyone. Except Brittana, of course. And maybe Sugar.

Disclaimer: Never. Nuh-uh. Nope. Don't own Glee.

* * *

"Hey." Brittany said, slowly, calm, cool. Walking towards the Latina leaning against her treasured vehicle, Brittany smirked, tucking her hands into her Cheerios jacket. "Was wondering when you would show up."

At least, that was what she wished had happened. Instead, what actually happened was this:

"Y-y-you." Stammering, Brittany leaned back, her jaw falling open. Catching herself, Brittany stared.

She was really there, wasn't she? Really real?

Her girl raised an eyebrow elegantly, the smallest of smiles ghosting her lips. Somehow, Brittany knew the girl was laughing inside.

"Stop laughing at me." She pouted, finding her composure. Her fingers fisted around the leather of her bag, wishing she could be halfway intelligent around the puzzling, beautiful girl.

Because she really was. Even though she was dressed casually in a simple grey Henley shirt, coupled with dark, tight jeans, the girl was by far, the prettiest person Brittany had ever met. And that was including Kurt. Who was plenty pretty on his own.

Holding her hands up, the girl stepped away from the bike, making a big show about taking a step and setting her face into a serious line. The solemn look really didn't suit her, Brittany decided, as she bit her bottom lip. "What are you doing here?"

Dark eyes blinked, before she beckoned with one hand, hiding the other inside her back pocket. The same worn backpack Brittany had always seen with the girl was slung across her shoulders, and as she watched, the girl slid it off, to dig inside. Pulling out a small device, the girl pulled it back onto her back, before showing Brittany what it was she had in her hand.

A tracking device?

A handheld bomb?

It was a cellphone. Mentally rolling her eyes at her paranoid thoughts, Brittany flushed, as she tilted her head. Why couldn't the girl just tell her what was going on?

As if hearing her thoughts, the girl looked around, before holding up a finger, effortlessly typing with her left digits. Barely a minute later, Brittany's phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket, reading the text from a blocked number.

_I can take you to Quinn._

If her heart rate had been thudding before, now it felt like a whole group of dolphins were doing backflips in her ribcage, as she reread it three more times to make sure she wasn't imagining it.

No, her girl had definitely said she could take her to her best friend.

Her head whipping up, Brittany made a face. "Are you serious?"

Her girl nodded.

Brittany's body leaned forward of its own accord, her heel lifting off the ground in preparation for that first step towards her. But something stopped her.

Tilting her head, Brittany barely recognized her voice-it was so full of suspicion.

"How do you know about her?"

If Brittany thought her girl was solemn-looking before, it was nothing compared to what she looked like now. Her forehead furrowed, her eyebrows drew close together, her nose scrunched up. Brittany could have thought she had sucked on a really, really sour Skittle.

Fingers flew across a screen, and then,

_Trust me._

Brittany stared at her phone. The fact that the number was blocked was such a contradiction to what the girl was asking her to do.

Her girl-despite the way she treated Brittany, despite the way she looked just like any other teenager-felt like danger. The kind of danger that set your adrenaline on edge, or touching a hot kettle when you thought it was cool.

The kind of danger you really shouldn't trust.

Another buzz_. I promise I'll explain._

"I don't even know your name." The words fell from her mouth, flying in the warm air. "You're asking me to trust someone who can't even tell me her name?" And what was with the texting? How'd she get her number? Brittany had so many questions, and not enough answers.

Her girl seemed to be able to read her mind, or something, because she went to tuck her phone into her pocket, those dark eyes never leaving her blues.

For the first time, in a long time, Brittany heard that wonderful, raspy voice.

"If I told you my name, will you trust me?" Her voice was like a really good s'more, she decided, one that you had while at a bonfire with your friends.

"I don't even know you."

"If you let me take you where I need you to be, then maybe you will."

"Are you really going to explain it to me?"

"Are you really going to trust me?"

Brittany took a step back. She felt her head begin to spin lightly. "Why should I?"

A beat.

"You're right. You shouldn't." Another pause. Dark eyes twitched slightly. "But you should at least let me take you to your friend."

Brittany bit her lip. Her girl seemed to become even more uncomfortable with every passing minute. Her eyes shifted from side to side, tan fingers tapped against her jeans and fisted alternately. She guessed the open space was making her nervous-Brittany had only ever seen her in the shadows or in an enclosed hallway, if she didn't count their very first encounter (things changed in the span of five years). Outside, against all the _space_, Brittany decided a person couldn't look any more out of place.

Something tugged at her heart. Her feet moved, placing her just in front of her girl. It was then that she was reminded of a small fact. One that made her smile genuinely, forgetting her exhaustion, her constant headache.

"You're shorter than me."

Elegant eyebrows arched, as Brittany saw her girl's face change. "Excuse me?" The question was light, breathy.

"You're smaller than me. Whenever I saw you in my head, or thought about you, you were always so big, you know? Like, strong and cool and stuff, but taller. This is kind of a letdown."

Plush lips fell open, as a jaw worked itself up and down uselessly. "I don't…what?"

"I mean, not that I'm complaining. You're the perfect height for me to cuddle with, but I wouldn't expect you to be running around with a gun. But I guess it makes sense, huh? You don't want people noticing you packing."

"Brittany…" Her girl took a step back, her eyes running to just over Brittany's shoulder.

"That's another thing. You know my name. I've already asked you three times, but you won't tell me yours. That's rude." Brittany stepped forward.

Dark chocolate flashed. "You've only asked me twice."

"Nope." Brittany popped the 'p'. She was grinning now, feeling herself fall into that voice. As long as she talked, Brittany felt comfortable. She could forget that the girl could shoot a gun, she could forget that she could somehow be related to Quinn's disappearance. She could maybe trust her too. "Three times."

"Brittany, I'm pretty sure you've only asked me twice…"

"Today. The very first time I asked you for it was when we were twelve. You just kissed me, and walked away. Also rude."

Brittany somehow knew she would deny it, but that was definitely a blush on her girl's cheeks. "Does this mean you'll let me take you to Quinn?"

"You're avoiding it again."

She felt the heavy gaze scorch over her, and Brittany briefly wondered if she had overstepped some line. And her girl was totally _flushing_. No doubt.

"Santana."

"Santana." Brittany repeated, feeling the name roll around in her mouth, felt the way it tasted. Like promises and trust. Brittany grinned. Adjusting her duffel, she stepped away

"I think I have an extra helmet." She tossed over her shoulder carelessly, as she straddled her bike, clicking the keys and bringing the machine to life.

A beat, as her girl-_Santana_-pulled off her bag.

"I brought my own."

* * *

Brown eyes watched, narrowed, as Brittany rode her bike out of the parking lot, tan arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

* * *

"A right, here!" Brittany heard the voice call over the wind, and slowed down for the turn, feeling those arms tighten just the tiniest bit more.

"I never would have pegged you for the nervous type!" Brittany yelled back, speeding up after the right to cruise down the empty street. It was nearing the evening, and the sun was lolling low on the horizon, taking its own sweet time to rise on the other side of the world. Brittany thought she recognized the neighbourhood-Lima Heights Adjacent wasn't the best place to be when the Man in the Moon came out to play. She hoped they would only be passing through, because she really did love this bike.

When all she got in reply was a slight slap to her stomach, Brittany found herself chuckling. Now that she knew her name, she found that she was a lot more comfortable with the mysterious girl.

She wasn't as dangerous anymore.

"Alright, take a left out here."

"Is it much further?"

"A little. Don't worry about it."

Brittany was slightly relieved as she watched the worn, tired houses with graying lawns fade behind her; they _were_ just passing through.

She noted the rapid decrease in populace though; property began to be more spaced out, there were no cars or vehicles. Streetlamps flickered dully to life as they rode out to the outskirts of Lima. Brittany couldn't recall when they had last passed a person-usually, teenagers milled around, reluctant to go home, using the old industrial warehouses as shelters for hanging out or weed parties.

She supposed if she stopped and thought rationally about it, she would slap herself around the face and turn around. Horror movies were definitely gaining credibility in the situation she was currently in-hadn't she always been the one who swore that she wouldn't be stupid enough to follow a stranger out to an abandoned place without at least one person knowing where she was?

Of course, Quinn had always scoffed that she wouldn't be stupid enough to let herself be kidnapped-she had always sworn that she would beat the crap out of anyone who tried.

Guess they were both wrong, huh?

Brittany found herself slowing down, when Santana squeezed around her waist. "We're almost there. See that sign down there? Turn left into the junction, and drive straight till I tell you to stop."

"Aren't those the woods?" Brittany asked, eyeing the broken signboard, hanging from a lone nail, proclaiming the distance to the next town. If she kept going straight, she would have left officially Lima; right and left, and she would be heading deeper into the maze of abandoned warehouses.

A long time before, way before Brittany had been born, Lima used to be a booming trade for locomotives and oil trade. People used to actually work in the rusting, ruined buildings that they were passing by, till the 'Rust Belt' decline happened-loads of the workers packed up shop, along with their manufacturing companies, and left the carcasses of their industry behind to rot. Some of the warehouses were still upright though, metaphorically shaking their fists and gloating against nature.

It was one such building that they were heading to, now that Brittany had turned onto the road Santana had led her to. Feeling the Latina shrug from behind her, Brittany focused on navigating her motorbike through the slightly creepy area, trying not to notice the way the shadows grew longer in some places, and moved in others.

"Stop just there." Brittany did, pulling to a stop just in front of the huge double doors of the erect warehouse. "Hold on." Her passenger told her, as she jumped off and freed her raven locks from where they had been hidden under her black helmet. Walking at a brisk pace, Santana set her hand on the handle of the first door, fiddled with something on it, and pulled it open. It was double her size, and Brittany wondered if it had been used for storage.

Is this where Quinn was?

Almost immediately, she answered her own question. The inside was dark, the lack of light reaching out for her, fighting against the late afternoon sun. There was no way her best friend could have been here-Santana was walking too casually into it.

Wordlessly gesturing with her hand, her girl made her wheel her bike inside.

They must've tripped some motion sensors or something, because fluorescents came to life as Brittany wandered deeper into the space.

For the second time that day, she froze.

It was like a scene out of a movie. There were vehicles of all kinds parked in the space, like a huge garage. Arranged neatly in rows were cars and motorbikes, from SUVs to ATVs. Their sides gleamed under the striplights, and Brittany's eyebrows furrowed, as her gaze traveled further to the back, where a screen had been put up halfway, horizontal to the space. It divided the large space into two-Brittany had no idea what was behind the curtain, but it seemed as though there were more vehicles parked there, judging from what little silhouettes she could see.

Santana placed a hand on her shoulder, making her jump. Raising her arms apologetically, her girl pointed towards an empty spot next to a navy blue minivan.

Brittany wheeled her baby into the lot, kicking the kickstand down and settling it comfortably. As she pulled off and strapped her helmet to her seat, she let her gaze travel over the vehicle next to her.

She was reminded of the weird kind of wood some people used to make an antique; her mom said it was to make the furniture look aged, older than it actually was. That was exactly what Brittany thought about the minivan; it was new, but was trying to look old. The outside definitely looked like it could have been under the care of a family of five for a couple of years-the scratches were testament to that. What gave away its true age was the doorhandles. They were shiny, and new, and definitely didn't fit with the overall worn in look of the car. Somehow, Brittany figured that if she were to take a look under the hood, the engines would be brand new.

Still, why was the car so familiar to her? She kept finding herself being tugged back to the day at the track-maybe she was just anxious to see her friend again?

Quinn definitely wasn't here, and Brittany jogged over to where Santana was waiting patiently by the doors, minus her helmet.

"Where's Quinn?"

"Not here. Come on." She said, holding the door open as she gestured for Brittany to slip through. Brittany followed her lead, walking through it and shivering slightly in the light cool the night was about to bring, despite the warmth of her Cheerios jacket.

Waiting for the other girl, she turned, watching as Santana exited the garage, calmly punching a code into the handle, a security feature she hadn't noticed before. What was this place? Why did Santana have access to it?

Stopping her questions, her girl waved her over, tucking her hands in her jeans. "Ready? We need to walk the rest of the way." Licking her lips, she scanned Brittany's face quickly, bouncing on her feet. "I mean, if you're alright with it, that is. It's a lot safer, and I know you might not want to leave your bike here, but it's loud, and I don't…" Santana was rambling, Brittany realised, her head tilting curiously. A smile found its way onto her lips, and she reached her hand out.

"It's fine. Come on."

Santana blinked, shuffled and began to walk. Brittany knew she had seen her holding her hand out, because she had glanced down.

_So you're ignoring it?_

Confused, and slightly hurt, she began to trail after her girl, training her vision on the lithe figure leading the way around the warehouse, heading towards the back of the building. If she had to guess, she could have said that Santana was nervous. But there was no way, right? Why was Santana-who could shoot a _gun_-nervous around Brittany?

Brittany began to notice that they were on some sort of trail. Turning back around, she saw the sun begin to disappear behind the warehouse they had just left, and the huge shadow that the building cast made her heart beat fast in her chest. Somehow, Brittany could feel it.

Quinn was somewhere nearby, just like Santana had said. Her gut knew what it was talking about.

Which kinda confused her, because there was something else building behind her lungs, capturing all her senses. Suddenly, Brittany found herself jogging just a bit faster to come to a steady pace beside her guide, swallowing as she smelt the musty scent of the woods. Woods. The same way Santana's hair had smelled like at the party.

Her pulse picked up, throbbing under the skin of her neck. In the quiet, walking next to Santana with nothing more than the sounds of crunching leaves under their feet and the faint wildlife from the treeline, Brittany began to realise the gravity of the situation.

Brittany's breath caught slightly, as she sent the girl next to her a sidelong glance. Cast in the dark, all of her previous perceptions about the girl came rushing back.

Danger. That was what she was.

Her footsteps stuttered slightly, then picked up again, and fell once more. An unsteady tempo that betrayed her thoughts, even as she tried to keep calm.

"San?" It still felt a bit weird to call the other girl anything other than her girl-the girl. To have a name to that face-to Brittany, it would take some getting used to.

Santana started. Making a slight noise to let her know she was listening, Brittany took it as a cue to continue. "Where are you taking me?"

"To see Quinn."

"What about the kidnappers?"

"What about them?" Their progress had slowed, and they stood underneath the shade of a tree, the dying sunlight filtering through the canopy. It painted light onto Santana, an enchanting type of painting that Brittany wished she could capture in a picture. Enigmatic and dangerous made for one hell of a sexy combination, Brittany realised, as she cast her head down, her gaze stumbling over those red lips.

Trying to bring her focus back to the conversation, Brittany tossed the words around in her head as she said them, testing their shape and weight for sharp corners and heavy burdens. "I mean, wouldn't they be there? Waiting for us? Do they even know that we're coming?"

Brittany could feel Santana's gaze on her, but it was fleeting, chasing after something, before coming back to her once more.

"I promise I'll explain there."

"But wouldn't it be dangerous? Wouldn't Quinn get into trouble if we get caught?"

"We're not busting her out." Brittany's eyes widened, as she straightened quickly. "Because she's not in trouble."

"What?"

Santana wasn't meeting her eyes. "She's not in any danger. I swear."

"How do you know?" Brittany's heart was going out of control, pumping and beating and filling her ears with too much sound and sensation. "How did you know about her in the first place?"

"I…" She seemed to struggle with something. Her mouth opened, and her eyes narrowed. She looked angry at…something. Not at Brittany, because she wasn't even looking at her.

Brittany waited, unconsciously leaning forward. She wanted to hear it, hear her say she somehow found out about Quinn going missing, and decided to come to her rescue, for Brittany's sake. She wanted to hear that romantic and highly improbable thought.

Santana's mouth shut. Brittany swallowed. Her girl watched the action, her gaze soft. Finally, a tan hand stretched itself out, the way Brittany had wished it had when she had offered hers before. "Come."

"Santana." Brittany tried again, wondering about the sudden shift in her girl's mood, questioning if she somehow had guessed at Brittany's thoughts. The devils were were swirling in her head, and she didn't want to pounce on them, didn't want to catch them.

She didn't know what to think. She didn't want to think.

She wanted Quinn. God, Quinn could make sense of everything.

Brittany was tugged along, following blindly, as their speed picked up, and despite her longer limbs, she was trying not to fall. They headed down a path made by frequent trips, footsteps trampling the undergrowth till they gave up and stopped trying to grow.

Somehow, Brittany felt she knew the place. Somehow.

They stopped. Brittany hadn't even realised they arrived.

The house was crumbling, falling apart. It was grand, once upon a time. A sprawling mansion, a space that used to scream wealth and housed luxury, surrounded by rusting gates that fell into each other in some parts, as though trying to hold the other up. Brittany's mouth fell open. Even in a state of disrepair, it was majestic. She had no idea someplace like this even existed in Lima.

But then again, there were a lot of things Brittany didn't know.

"Where are we?" Again, no reply. Brittany could barely tear her attention away from the sight in front of her, but she felt the squeeze on her hand. It was leading her once more, and Brittany moved forward, trailing behind her girl as they entered the grounds, stepping over the crumbling gates that formed an 'x', hanging valiantly by their hinges.

They were walking around the house, Brittany realised. Not into it.

Her curiosity clogged and clambered in her throat, not able to escape in words. Maybe that was why Santana wasn't answering her. Maybe because she wanted to show her instead.

But Quinn…was what Santana said true? Was she safe? Why was Santana bringing her here, so plainly and carefully?

Her limbs were tingling, the current beginning from where her girl was grasping her fingers lightly, as though afraid to really touch her.

What had Santana planned?

Brittany barely had a second's warning; digging the balls of her feet into the soil of the unkempt garden, trying not to make a face at the feeling of the overgrown grass tickling her ankles, she stopped again. Santana was turned towards her, biting her bottom lip, as she waved a hand towards the space in front of them.

"Here?"

Santana nodded, using her free hand to point to something Brittany hadn't noticed before.

A hatch lay hidden in the structure of the house, twin metal doors staring up at the sky as the sunset glinted off the latch. Brittany would never have noticed it, if Santana hadn't pointed it out to her.

Quinn was there? Beneath the house?

Suspicion reared its handsome head, whispering doubts, whispering that it was all a ruse-a meticulously planned trick to trap her here too.

"Brittany, wait."

Facing her, Brittany tilted her head, shoving hard against the voice, shoving hard against her misgivings. Watching the Santana in front of her, how could she not?

Santana's nose scrunched cutely, her dark gaze directed to their connected hands. She shifted slightly in her boots, and played with the beltloops on her jeans with fidgeting fingers.

Not looking up, she spoke, voice soft and edgy. "I just…before you open it. I just wanted to say…"

Brittany waited. She noticed Santana did this a lot. Start a sentence, and then stop halfway. Like she wasn't used to words, or had a sentence she wanted to say but realised she couldn't. Brittany wondered if it was a nervous habit, like Mike tapping his pen, and Quinn rolling her eyes.

And suddenly, Brittany wasn't wondering anything at all, because Santana was leaning towards her, lips pressed against one cheek, and free hand resting lightly on the other.

Lingering, Santana memorized the feel of _BrittanyBrittanyBrittany_, knowing that she wouldn't have the chance to do it again for a while. She felt horrible, knowing that she was just being selfish, prolonging the time she had with the blonde that wouldn't be cloying with mistrust and uneasiness. But for that moment, Santana closed her eyes and allowed just a little bit of her heart to peek through the chest she kept it in, let it breathe and enjoyed the feel of the incredible girl in front of her. The one that hitched her breath when she was surprised, or lost her ability to speak whenever Santana stole a kiss much like this.

Pulling away with her eyelids shut, Santana inhaled the scent that was just so _Brittany_, and mourned the cold wash of reality that sent her heart back where it came, clutching the moment close.

"Go ahead." She had to let her go. She had to start letting her go.

Brittany's eyes opened, meeting the crown of dark curls, and her lips parted, hearing her heart race in her ears for an entirely different reason than before. Her mind was blank, and her cheek tingled.

The moment hung, magical and tangible, till Santana stepped away.

Pop.

Brittany clamped her jaw closed, realising the words she had been given. Blue eyes shot to the hatch, tucking the previous minute into her mind. She would mull over _that_ later.

Breathing in, Brittany went towards it, anticipation throbbing behind her head, her hand reaching out. She half-registered the feel of her other hand slipping out of Santana's hold-had she resisted slightly?-as she crouched, the weight of her duffel pressing lightly against her back.

The feeling was back; the buzzing in her soles, the shaking in her fingers. She pressed her forefinger against the metal.

Quinn was here.

She pulled the latch away, struggling slightly as it protested in a screech of metal against metal, before it unlocked, and she pulled the doors open.

Something launched itself at her, tackling her to the ground.

* * *

Quinn paced. Santana had said she would bring Brittany over today. That was ages ago. So where was she?

Picking up her phone, she sighed at the number of outstanding voicemails and missed calls. She didn't even want to try and guess how many texts she had gotten.

"Stupid Santana." She huffed, as she collapsed onto the plush sofa. Laying down, she stared hard at the fluorescent strip above her, wondering how long it had last been since she saw the sun. Sure, Santana did great bringing meals and stuff, but it was easy to lose track of time without any windows.

Not that there weren't any in the Basement. They were just all taped up and stuff.

As far as kidnappers went, Quinn could have done a lot worse. Santana was…well, Santana. To be honest, Quinn could've guessed that the Latina had had no idea what to do with her, once she had her down here.

At least the Basement was cool. Well-ventilated (don't ask; she hadn't even wanted to know), well-hidden (she nearly tripped over the stupid hatch, which made her doubly glad that Santana wasn't using a knife), and well-furnished (if they ever needed a bomb shelter, she was totally camping here); Quinn was actually _comfortable_.

She could have done without the sometimes surly and rude warden, of course, but…

Yeah, the blonde could have done so much worse. Checking her phone again, Quinn figured they would be there soon. Brittany would have been done with Cheerios a while ago.

Propping her head on her arm, she wondered if she could chance a look outside. _Nah_, she laughed immediately after. Santana would have locked the hatch, kept her inside.

The girl was a horrible kidnapper, but even she knew that much.

Hearing a noise, Quinn sat up quickly, her ears alert as she wondered if it was just the house settling above her (it was pretty darn old; sometimes she wondered what its history was, but Santana would clam up even more than she already did if she tried to bring it up).

It happened again, rebounding in the wide, enclosed space. No, Quinn wasn't just imagining it.

She pushed herself off the furniture, crossing the huge space to get to the hatch, running past the hallway that led to the bedrooms, the entrance to the kitchen. A smile growing on her face, Quinn would never admit it, but she was sort of glad Santana had orchestrated all of it the way she did.

They would both be hidden. Even though Brittany was the only one that really mattered.

If Quinn and Santana agreed on nothing much, that was one.

Skidding to a halt at the foot of the stairs that led outside, she held her breath as the door swung open.

Her body moved before she could even process it properly, pushing her up the stairs and out.

* * *

"Britt! B, you're here!"

Brittany was trying to catch her breath, trying to get in air past the blonde hair falling in her face. Blonde hair that certainly wasn't hers.

The weight on her chest was a welcome one though, as it pulled away and was replaced with a hand attached to a crooked smirk. "You going to get up?"

"I feel like I was run over with a very heavy paint roller." Brittany muttered, her lungs finally filling with air, as she pushed herself onto her hands, trying to feel her legs. The surprise hug really hit her hard, especially because Quinn had always been particularly reserved with touching. Brittany was usually the one initiating their hugs, with Quinn rolling her eyes and mumbling some offhand remark about how easily excitable her friend was.

Speaking of hugs…

The fingers waggled in front of her, and Brittany felt a grin blooming on her face as she grasped them to haul herself up. She was really here. She had found Quinn!

"Q!" She squealed, as she engulfed the shorter girl in a hug. Squirming slightly, Quinn laughed as she returned it, finding herself reminded of how much she had missed her best friend. After the fear and surprise and every other emotion possible had faded (and believe her, she must've cycled through her entire spectrum after Santana explained things to her), Quinn had just missed the other girl. She was comforting. Her anchor.

"I can't believe you're finally here." Quinn mumbled into her shoulder, and Brittany pulled back slightly, eyeing her friend. Now that their reunion was over, Brittany's thoughts returned with a vengeance, pooling into an angry hive of confusion and curiosity.

"Are you ok? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine; Santana's been taking great care of me."

"Really? Because it's been a week, and I was imagining all these horrible things-wait. Taking care of you?"

Quinn bit her bottom lip, as her smile faded away. Darting her gaze to the side, she caught said captor waiting for them, face blank and unreadable.

"You didn't tell her?"

Dark eyes narrowed. "Not yet."

"Why not? You said so yourself, you were going to-"

"I was taking her to you, Barbie. Now, if the two of you are quite done, you better get inside. I have things to do, and I want to get this out of the way."

Brittany flinched at the cold tone of her girl's voice. She had never heard it like this before.

Quinn didn't seem bothered by it though, merely rolling her eyes as she disengaged from Brittany, interlocking their hands and pulling them into the basement, where she had come from, leaving Santana behind, aboveworld.

Brittany had no idea what she expected. Maybe something out of one of her crime shows. A dingy basement, wet and maybe what she imagined the inside of a slug to look like. Small, definitely.

Was she wrong, or was she wrong?

It looked more like a really cool bachelor pad, maybe. Sparse, empty, but big. It must've been shaped as wide as the house, Brittany figured.

Quinn had dragged her into what seemed to be the living room. A flatscreen on one wall, facing a comfortable-looking white sofa, flanked by a lazy boy recliner and an armchair. From where she stood, there was an entryway to a kitchen (she had caught a glimpse of a well-worn stove, and a wide, expensive looking table), which was next to a narrow hallway that led down to two rooms with closed doors, and ended at yet another hallway, one that branched out to the left and right . Brittany wondered what was down there.

Taped up, the windows-Brittany was guessing-lorded over them, hanging high on walls that were painted white, and there was just so much _space_, interspersed with wooden partitions that looked sturdy, which kind of surprised her, because weren't they holding up the ruined house above?

Again, Brittany was reminded of antiqued wood. New, trying to be old.

As Brittany gaped, Quinn smirked, tugging her over to sit on the couch.

The sound of metal clanging. Brittany jumped, but settled as she heard the footsteps on the wooden stairs. Santana was coming down.

Santana, that had brought Quinn here in the first place, of that, Brittany was sure. And then had brought Brittany too.

Said girl walked straight into the kitchen, barely sparing them a glance, and Brittany heard a few cupboards opening and closing-where had those come from?-and then a muffled curse, as something crashed to the floor.

Quinn's eyebrow twitched, like it was begging to arch, but Quinn yelled instead. "You ok, Santana?"

"Shut up, Barbie."

"Just asking."

"Don't." The words bit, and Brittany slung her bags off, setting them on the floor by her feet to cover up her sudden uneasiness. It was so different from the way her girl had been speaking to her before.

Her girl had been gentle, _nervous_.

This Santana was cold, harsh.

"Santana? Are you hurt?" Brittany couldn't help herself, despite the curdling inside her. The thought of her girl, hurt in any way…

A beat. "Cut my finger."

Brittany was rising before the answer was done, and she met Santana just as she was trying to leave the kitchen. Quinn tagged along, linked by their hands, and she hovered, eyes catching the glint of blood from a ragged cut on the other girl's pinky.

"I thought you said you were ok." Quinn drawled, nodding her chin at the wound. Santana bristled, before calming when Brittany pulled her wrist to her for a closer inspection.

"It doesn't look too bad." Brittany had had more than her fair share of cuts, clumsy and daring as she was. She guessed her girl would heal in about a week, easily.

Quinn watched as Santana all but melted around her bones, muscles relaxing, as she watched Brittany inspect her wound. Shaking her head, Quinn wondered if she knew how obvious she was being. As though catching the movement and listening to her thoughts, the Latina looked up at her, the hardness that Quinn was familiar with back in her face, flickering over where Quinn was still holding on to her best friend's hand. If Quinn hadn't known any better, she could have sworn that her features had tightened, before being replaced by a blank mask.

Brittany felt the wrench. The slender wrist she had been holding withdrew, and Santana offered nothing more than her back, as she slipped through, vanishing down the corridor.

"Don't worry about her. She's been like this the whole time." Quinn said, shaking her head slowly. There was a sadness in her voice; heaviness not for herself.

"Really?" Brittany found herself whispering, following as Quinn entered the kitchen. Releasing their hands, Quinn bent to pick up the remains of a glass cup. Carefully collecting them in her palm, she cradled them over to the sink, pulling the cupboard below it open to reveal a small trashcan. She tossed them in there, pushing it shut with her foot.

Brittany leaned against the doorway, as she actually looked at the room.

(She didn't want to think.)

It had been partitioned off with a wall that sounded solid when she knocked on it. It looked just like any other kitchen, excluding the size of it. Most of it was taken up by the large table that she had seen before, anyway, chairs tucked nicely into it.

Brittany wondered about that tiny hole by the wall at the head of the table. A beat, and then she shrugged, continuing on her exploring.

The appliances looked pretty new, save for the stove. The coffee machine tucked into the corner, on the countertop, especially stuck out, because it was gleaming. If she had to guess, she would say that they had only been used once or twice.

"She was probably making tea."

"What?" Brittany stepped further into the room, staring at her friend. Busying herself with a few cupboards, Quinn repeated her statement. "Tea. She doesn't really do coffee. Unless she's stressed. Then she will."

"How do know you all this?"

"I noticed. Spend a week with the girl, and you'll learn a lot about her."

Brittany's heart picked up its beat again, the statement reminding her-how did she forget?-about all the questions left unanswered.

Santana had promised to explain.

Hadn't she?

* * *

"Shit." The profanity fell from her lips with hatred, and Santana rested her head against the wall of her room for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

It was no good. She was too emotionally invested. She couldn't do this.

Inhaling sharply, she thought of Brittany.

Brittany, with the innocent smiles Santana wanted to protect. Brittany, who had commented on her height, of all things, to break the tension. Brittany, who was waiting for her, no doubt, confused beyond belief.

Brittany, who had, no doubt, somehow figured out that Santana had been the one that had _kidnapped_-the word soured in her mouth-her best friend.

Santana had to tell her something.

Why was it so hard? Telling Quinn hadn't been half this hard. It had been quite easy, actually. (Yelling at her was definitely an easier option.)

(Of course, she could have done without getting shot again.)

(Her shoulder definitely still panged if she moved too hard, or too fast.)

But Santana couldn't do that with Brittany. No, if she did that, she'd lose her before she even began.

She didn't want that. Despite everything that had happened to her, Santana didn't want anything to happen to Brittany.

-_"-let go! She doesn't know anythi-"_-

Santana massaged her temples, gritting her teeth. No. Not the time.

Santana didn't want anything to happen to Brittany. That meant telling her the truth.

Or at least, what she could. Brittany deserved that much.

She stared at her wrist, the very same one Brittany had held before. Her touches had been so bold, unafraid. She could only imagine how they would change after she'd had her say.

Maybe it wouldn't be a problem, because there wouldn't be any more.

Clenching her eyes shut, she tried not to focus on the slight pinprick of pain on her pinky. After all, it was just a cheap imitation of what she felt inside.

* * *

Brittany cradled her tea, sipping from it silently, as she waited for Santana to return. Quinn sat next to her at the dining table. She hadn't said a word either, guessing her friend didn't want them at the moment.

Brittany was counting her heartbeats, counting them to steady her nerves.

The tea was calming. Warm.

Brittany counted.

When she got up to 323, Santana appeared in the doorway, a Band-Aid stuck around her pinky. Brittany looked up.

Santana caught her gaze, and smiled slightly, a smile that said too much and too little.

A second later, the smile was gone, and Brittany wondered what it meant, and where it went to hide. It was a beautiful smile, if on a smaller scale than she was used to-she wondered if Santana knew that.

Probably not. Brittany was beginning to get the idea that Santana hadn't had many reasons to smile before.

Her girl walked to the counter, where Quinn had left a tea bag in an empty cup, the electric kettle next to it. Santana poured herself a cup, and Brittany watched as she added two spoonfuls of sugar to it. She walked to the table, catching Quinn's gaze.

Brittany's best friend held the stare, cocking her head slightly. "I'm assuming you're ready to talk?"

Santana took a sip of her drink, merely blinking at her. Rolling her eyes, Quinn nodded to the seat opposite the both of them, pushing it back slightly with her foot. "Sure, you can sit." There was no sarcasm in her voice, and Brittany wondered how she had managed to understand that from a simple glance.

Santana sat, silence and grace defined. Brittany watched as she scrutinized the chair with a look-she could've easily missed it-and settled, taking a long drag from the blue cup she held in her hand. She placed it on the table, tapping her fingers on it at a steady pace.

Santana sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Brittany counted her heartbeats. Quinn watched impassively.

Finally, after Brittany stuttered and lost count, Santana sighed, and looked up, rubbing her face with her left hand, the one that was hurt.

"I'm sure…that you have questions." The words were slow. Thought out. "And I'm pretty sure you're wondering about a lot of things." Another pause. "I don't know how to answer your questions. But I can tell you certain things." Some of her girl was back. It wasn't just cold, harsh Santana anymore. There was gentleness.

Still, the way she was phrasing her words, the deliberation in them; it certainly sent Brittany's heart racing. There was no way she could count them now. She could barely differentiate them from one another.

She felt like she was on that one rollercoaster she had been on with Quinn once, when she had dragged them to spend a day at a carnival that had opened downtown. Quinn had moaned and groaned about being forced to come, and then moaned and groaned even worse when she saw the ride that Brittany had wanted to go on. Rickety, unstable, and possibly not passing any safety inspections anytime soon, the Striking Comet had definitely been a deathtrap disguised as fun.

"What things?"

(Brittany pulled on the safety bar, nudging Quinn to tell her to _stop being such a worrywart, other people tried it and survived_.)

Santana kept up her finger tapping. "Well, for one thing. Why you're here. Why you both are here."

"And why is that?"

(The ride was pulling them up the incline, clacking amidst carnival noises and Quinn yelled at Brittany over the wind, yelled over the sounds of anticipation of the other passengers, yelled that _you owe me cotton candy when we get down, B!_)

Dark eyes finally met hers, unflinching, blazing. Brittany swallowed.

(They were at the top, that magical moment where you couldn't go any higher on the ride, and the people in front were _screaming screaming screaming_, and you knew what was coming but yelled along with them anyway because no matter what, on the other side-)

"Because your life is in danger."

(They fell.)


End file.
